DBX: Act 3: True Light
by Xenotra
Summary: (Ph. 1)Truth descends over the city and a powerful plot involving the Bounty Hunters surfaces...A signal. Hyle's past comes back to haunt him. Unfinished, first 4 chps. done.
1. Beacon

Dragonball   
X  
Act III  
True Light  
  
  
Prologue  
  
The sands of time churned and whispered to the rocks. This pale sea of specks rode the wind with unstoppable vigor.   
The transport rocked and rode over the hills with equal will. The box shape was hammered and pounded relentlessly by the wind and sands. At an odd moment, it settled to the moving ground, grinding six long, flexible pikes to steady itself in this vulnerable position. After a few moments of sitting, the small hatch on one side folded into itself and revealed a sliver of the dark quarters inside. There were voices over the loud, crashing wind.  
"Sir! I advise against leaving this way!" was a stressed voice.  
"Don't worry, boys, I've had worse in Antarctica." Was a composed one. The composed individual stepped halfway out, steadying himself with one hand on the hatch frame. He wore dark, round shades, and pulled his crimson scarf over his mouth from the swirling dust. The rest of his clothes were a heavy desert collage: heavy, metal infused boots; thick, small gauntlet type gloves, also steel-laced; and finally three layers of thin, terra-cotta tunics for protection of the weather. A medium-sized case was strapped to his back; he unlatched it, and set it down. It never touched the ground.  
The case floated there momentarily, then reconfigured itself. The top and bottom slid across each other in opposite directions, stopping at the end of each. The top went down, the bottom moved up, and they linked together, forming a sort of hover-board. The young man boarded the small vehicle while, from its front end, a small rod and top control stick, to administer weight and steering, grew up. He grasped, called, "Don't worry about me, guys!" and turned the rod, speeding him off over the hills. Sand shot away on both sides of the dashing board.  
The stressed advisor poked his head out once more, "I sure hope he sets them straight." Then ducked back in. The hatch enclosed. In six slick sheathings, the pikes returned to the transport and it lifted off, fighting its way back home against the wind.  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
Beacon  
  
  
People stared. The young man expected it, with his desert clothing covered in sand and the compacted hoverboard hanging over his shoulder. His jet-black shades masked his eyes from any souls willing to look at his face. They would notice, however, his soft tones and slight darkness in skin. Also his short blond hair with two large, separated locks hanging down over his forehead, one on each side.   
The young man walked with his metal-clad boots clanking loudly and grooving the pavement, then came to a stop with a click at his heels in front of two big double doors and the emblem of a sword aiming down floating over them.  
  
"Explain yourself, Agent." Jonathon ordered.  
"Jamming signals from the Trinity Beacon are interfering with our communication to Direct. And my presence is not welcome there at this point in time." The young man explained.  
"What is your plan?" Erik asked, before Jonathon could interrogate again.  
"To infiltrate Trinity Beacon and disconnect the central shaft to the communication dishes." He answered thoroughly. "I have the coordinates."  
"Trinity Beacon has been tranquil for thirty years! Furthermore, there are three central dishes, what are you going to do, blow them up!?" Jonathon exploded. The young man grinned at the thought.  
"What, then, do you need from us?" Erik continued his less loud questions.  
"An aid." The soldiers there straightened. "I've heard your reputation and received footage of your battles during the Wars and even some choppy footage of you," he nodded toward Erik, "in that movie theater."  
"How much would you charge?" A brave and inexperienced Sergeant Jefferson ventured.  
"My payment to you would be the renewal of the best of leadership..."  
"A Stronkhold Activist!" Jefferson cried and leveled his blaster. He expected the scenario of the shadowy individual drawing his own gun and a dramatic standoff to play out. But the young man just stared at him, at least it seemed so with his dark shades.  
"Jefferson." Erik warned. His fellow Lieutenant lowered the gun, then hesitantly shouldered it.  
Only then did the young man comment, "I see a mishap has even the lesser-known factions a little stirred and paranoid."  
"You could say that." Erik leveled. There was a tense silence. No one could comprehend where from and why this young man had come. Why he had come especially to Vengeance, when Direct and Wing were available?   
Erik popped the question, "But why us?"  
The young man constructed his answer. "I know that you all...everyone standing in this room...has had extensive combat training. You have been built for every situation and every terrain. This place is my best bet right now." He paused again. "If you will allow me the honor."  
"He seems sincere." The deep voice enveloped the room. Vengeance had been listening from the now open window.  
All lower officers tensed at their founder's presence. Only those who had the experience of feeling his wrath didn't change their stance. "I'll go." Erik stepped forward.  
"Then it's settled." Vengeance stood, Jonathon gaped. "Dismissed." Those all frozen in fear found their nerves and moved.  
"What?? Just like that?" Jonathon gagged out at Vengeance as Erik quietly strode out behind the young man.   
"It was a voluntary situation. Erik volunteered, and I know he's more than ready for a real infiltration mission. Stand down, Captain. And calm down as well." And Vengeance was gone again.  
  
  
"Now who wants to join some high revolutionary, huh?" the soldier was saying, his voice slurred from the heavy dosage of whiskey. "Ya' know what I did? I didn't join no revolutionary, no sir, I stayed with Direct, I'll be loyal to the end." He stood up then and yelled at the drink mixer, "Hey! Can I get another one over here?"  
The bartender had already seen to that, setting a fresh whiskey in front of him, but the soldier looked at it as if it weren't there and yelled back at the bartender, "Didn't you hear me? I said I wanted another one."   
"You do have another one, look in front of you." The bartender said coolly.  
"I don't want that one," he screamed, swatting it away.  
"Hey, man, settle down." A civilian was standing as Thomas set his hand on the soldier's shoulder.  
"Get off me, Wing scum!" He whirled on Tom, and socked him, but not very hard thanks to the whiskey.  
Thomas' eyes narrowed when he looked back at the soldier, wiping his chin. Without warning, he hooked the Direct soldier hard in the jaw, sending him against the counter. He took him by the collar and lifted him to his face, "Now, I tried asking nicely." With that, he threw the soldier across the counter so that he crunched through a table at the end.  
This triggered the other soldiers to leap onto Tomas, drunkenly trying to beat him up. The civilian that had stood before strode up and yanked two men off the officer, easily throwing them into another table. "Yeeehhaaaa!" a soldier ran at the civilian, a broken bottle waving in his hand.  
The civilian ducked under the swiping bottle and broke one of the man's ribs. Thomas had just thrown off two men when the civilian yelled over the growing crowd, "Alec!"  
"Tom!" Tom yelled back.  
"Looks like we'll be fighting these idiots." Alec maneuvered around a couple of "idiots" to Thomas.  
"Are you sure? You might get in trouble." Thomas cautioned.  
"Hell. So will you."   
Tom agreed and drove his fist into the closest guard's jaw.  
  
  
Erik and the young man waited behind the sand dune. Over it lay a surprisingly flat dune, then the perfect half sphere of the Trinity Beacon. At the sphere's peak, a long shaft with random wires entwined around it rode into the support for three identical satellite dishes, each of which pointing sixty degrees away from its partner target.  
"So, I was wondering." Erik opened up.  
"Yes?" the young man asked, and waited.  
"If we're gonna' be undergoing tactical and/or chaotic combat, you know, uh, yelling at each other and stuff, well, I gotta' have something I can call you, I can't just say 'Dude' can I?"  
The young man chuckled, then shook his head "no" for "Dude". "I'll settle for Shades." He replied, touching his jet-black sunglasses. "Ready?"  
Jarring Erik back to the matter at hand, he nodded. "Shades" and Erik charged over the hill onto the flat slate of sand. "Watch the mines!" Shades yelled.  
"What mines?" Erik asked. As if by cue, it happened. Sift! Sift! Sift! They exited the sand and floated level with the intruders. They popped up everywhere, forming a tactical grid of spinning, gyrating orbs of death, complete with flashing lights and onboard blasters.  
"Oh." Was all Erik said before yanking out his rod sword. A Mine immediately sensed the action and gyrated its upper and lower cannons to Erik, and fired. Erik's training fields kicked in as he arched his upper body back and moved his neck to dodge one beam, then the other. The last two shots he reflected off his sword, a convulsory vibration hitting at every contact. The Mine charged for another volley, but the round shaft of the sword smashed it to bits.  
"Show time." Shades threw his higher sand-covered cloak over a Mine, which in turn started shooting randomly, its motor sensors blocked, hitting mostly sand but also a few neighboring mines. His suit underneath was the same tan desert brown, but with gold, dark violet, and black armor. In fact, most of his upper tunic, under the armor, was this crimson violet. He drew from the holder on his shoulder a small Force blaster, similar to the models in the city, except the barrel was dramatically larger and it had nooks and unfinished latches lining the outer barrel, as if it were missing a component.   
Shades backflipped three times out of range of the sectioning streams of laser fire, then picked his targets. The long-gun-size barrel discharged a blast spanning a meter long, and it sang through the center of an orbiting mine, leaving a window through to the earth before it exploded. Shades continued to pick off the scouting mines one by one while Erik drew their fire.  
Erik was once again back to his training experience. All shots would have killed a normal man, but with enhanced reflexes and sensory activity he performed a dance of simple moves, exerting the least amount of energy. He arched his back, bringing his neck down by reflex, and struck his heels together and six shots zoomed past him.  
Erik's sword was proving quite effective against the mines. Finishing off one by swinging the bashing sword in from his left side, he followed through, spun it around and stabbed behind him to his right, piking another orbison. He waited for it to sputter and grow heavy, then lashed the blade out and swung up in front of him, knocking a third mine to the clouds.  
A shot jarred over his right shoulder pad. Rage and intensity filled his eyes and they turned first. In split-second time, the Vengeance combatant spread his legs to a proper throwing position, turned on his heel, and flung. He froze the position to watch the spinning pike arch high in the air, then imbed itself through the center of another mine. The mine moved a few inches in the air from impact, then thunked to the dirt.  
Shades spun back behind from view and set to work on his gun. He revealed two bulkier versions of his gun's barrel, slapped them together, where they fused into each other, forming a vast double barrel. This, he latched into the "unfinished" notches and clefts in his original barrel. Shades now held a hefty Force, double-barreled pulse cannon at his side.  
As this was happening, the auto-defenses of the dome kicked in, and ever-so-slowly their doors were being reinforced by secondary and tertiary layers. "Erik!" Shades' call jarred the officer back to the doors, which were nearly closed. He took the initiative faster than he believed possible, yanking his sword out of the metallic carcass and bolting for the door. He was not ten feet from it when a massive beam of hot, molten energy sang over his head and smashed into the door. Erik jumped instinctively back from the fray of ash. When the smoke cleared, the secondary and tertiary layers were gone, and the primary layer blackened. Curious, Erik tapped the blackest spot with his sword. It fell away. "Well, that wasn't so hard." He murmured.  
"You don't know the half of it." Shades walked past him inside.   
  
The two trudged silently over the stone, black floors and darted their eyes around to the presence of the triggers of traps, if there were any. "Why didn't you bring a gun?" Shades asked him quietly.  
"I don't need one." Erik was even quieter. There was only the minute clicking of their combat metallic boots. "So what's the plan?"  
"Well, how's about we take it one step at a time." More clicking. Erik waited for him to continue. "First, we need to get past their automotive defenses."  
"And when do they kick in."  
Shades hesitated. "I don't know."  
They turned a corner and entered a pitch-dark room. They both stopped short in the center of the doorway, daring something to happen. Something did: the walls lined themselves across with ten red dots. They flashed.  
"Down!" Shades grabbed Erik's shoulder and shoved him down with him. Beams grew as lightning from the dots and laser charges ran along the bars into ten consecutive places on the higher wall, filling the air with ash and electrons.  
"Get down!" Shades screamed. "They use sensory lasers!"  
Erik complied, ducking just under a long array of red bars. A beam cascaded down to his original spot and left a six-inch hole. "Why didn't you bring a gun!?" Shades chastised him again.  
"Like I said, I don't need one." Erik shot his palm forward and a burst of energy lapsed from his skin. The bolt found a straight path through the sensors and scrapped the head of a Guardian. Nine left, and now they knew their position. The Guardians were hulking metallic spiders, ranging only four legs, and laser-sighted spectrum pulse cannons reigning on their heads. With one of their spiders fallen, the lights turned on in unison through the room and the invaders' eyes were blinded by flooding light.  
One of the ten, a large, black-etched "7" on its belly, protruded a fifth leg from its number, and propelled itself up. It crashed down over the two men, them falling on their backs. Erik took the advantage, charged up, and loosed twenty volleys of blasts into the underbelly of the Guardian while Shades shielded his eyes. They disintegrated the fifth leg, then propelled the metal beast up and arching over to land twenty-five feet away on its back, ashen, and scrapped.   
"What do you say we stop them from doing that again?" Shades commented/asked, attaching a third piece to the barrel of his Force Rifle. He took aim from the ground and loosed a constant stream, riding from one end of the room to the other. The shots ran down the line, melting through the hinges and slicing off the legs, six of the remaining eight lost most of their limbs and fell, their cannons still functional.   
"9" leapt. "Split!" Shades and Erik rolled in opposite directions as 9 filled their place, twirling its head/cannon from side to side, contemplating who to follow. It split the difference and contracted its head, unleashing two cannons facing opposite directions, one to each side, and fired both simultaneously.  
Both invaders dodged behind their consecutive pillars, noticing the 8-inch holes each blast was making in their directions. "We have to get to the main communication shaft!" Shades called to Erik, "Start heading up! I'll handle this!"  
Erik hesitated behind his pillar, "I don't think you can take them. There're still two healthy ones and one of them's firing at us!"  
"Don't question me, MOVE!!" Shades answered, then dove out from behind his protection, only firing once. The shot sang into the barrel of a top cannon and half of the module exploded. The Guardian had found its real threat, and turned its full battery onto the young man, also signaling its remaining partner.  
Erik took to scaling the walls as Shades shied to his pillar. The two Guardians froze, and shivered. Their legs stiffened, then folded into each other. Their fifth legs appeared, and reconfigured themselves into bulky wheels. When the belly was near to the floor, the fifth tendril spun rapidly, creating a spine-shocking wail as the excess outer shell was shattered, leaving behind a smooth, balanced, indestructible tire.  
"Oh Shhhhhh-!" He whirled on a blind impulse, fired a blind shot, then bolted down the adjacent hall, still teaming with darkness. The spiders lowered themselves further, then sped forward. He felt and witnessed their red laser sights crisscrossing over his head. He dodged right, the ground splintering with fire, then left, with the same conclusion. He sensed the charged and coiled his legs together, launching him high up. The mushroom cloud-esque explosion detonated at his feet. The generated air and extra force of the blast propelled him higher, where he flipped forward twice and landed hard, his armored boots absorbing the shock.  
Shades turned and took aim with his Long Force Blaster. But another explosion behind him rocked him. The partner Guardian appeared, driving in and turning sharply, catching the smoke so it rode and split over its hull. "They're thinking." Shades cursed. "Looks like I'll have to use some improvisation." He leapt away from the next explosion, then dashed into its own mist.  
  
Erik entered the rectangular room. It's floor and walls were a bronze/gold tint, while its ceiling was pitch black. The walls were lined with what looked like arches, but they were indented into the metal, making them look like hatches. On the farthest end, to Erik's right, was a mounted platform by a pillar. Attached to the platform, and touching the floor was a firm, steel-pole ladder. Above the circular platform was a hole in the ceiling emitting blue light. The hole was an identical circle as the platform.  
Erik was shaken by nearby explosions. He turned back to his entrance point and murmured, "Damn, I hope he's not dead."  
  
Shades had found his way to the upper exterior of the ceiling, where long, crisscrossing bars and pillars gave him cover...and leverage. He now knelt at the foot of a long chasm between two bars lining the wall, each ending at a heavy pillar. Shades' gun was slung over his back and he was fiddling with his belt. He revealed a small handle, like one you'd see for a lightsaber. Hitting an even smaller switch on it, it produced a knife on one side. Holding down an adjacent button, it stayed down and flashed green.   
The young man tossed it up and caught the blade tip between his thumb and index finger, then took aim for the other side. He flung the knife with skill and it sang across the chasm. It made a hard Twink! in the opposing pillar. The flashing green button flashed red. The blade spun clockwise and drilled further in. The rim just under the blade split in two, jettisoning both ends with ting, strong strings trailing them around the pillar. They crossed each other, came back around to the front latched back into the short shaft. The light now shone blue.  
Now, the lower half of the shaft shot back across the chasm, another invincible, tiny rope with it, to Shades' waiting hand. He took the handle and hooked it into his belt. The remaining slack he entwined around his left arm. He whirled his gun back before him in his right hand.   
As if by cue, Shades ducked a shot from the Guardians now below him. They had found his position. "Here goes." With that, he leapt back for momentum and off. The rope tightened. He swung with the skill of Tarzan down close to his opposing wall, then ran against it. Almost completely horizontal, he opened fire. The shots rained down on the two Guardians and they lost sensory of their target in the confusion.  
Shades changed the course of his feet to vertical, using his built momentum to scale the far wall, a flight stairs waiting for him. Now on solid ground, he cut his arm loose and took the stairs two at a time.  
  
Erik whirled on the door. A constant, echoing banging came up from the from which he had come. "Guardians." He whispered, tightening his grip on his sword.  
"Not quite." The young man's voice emerged before he did. "They're subdued, for now." He scanned the area, locking on the platform. "Ah, there it is." He dashed to it.  
"What're you doing?" Erik called after him.  
"Setting the charges!" he was on the platform. It shuddered, then began to ascend into the hole in the ceiling. "Keep a look-out while I do this." He was gone.  
Erik turned away from his exit. "Great, you get the fun part."  
  
Shades scaled the ladder through the long pipe straight into the outside. The sun was setting, and the wind only a light breeze. The young man took a moment to take in a few breaths of fresh air and feel the wind a little, then set to work.   
The upper dome consisted of one long shank, with various wires and bulges where necessary for power sources. At its peak it spanned into three other smaller shanks, these ranging diagonally, then horizontally. A medium-sized satellite dish rised on each horizontal end.   
Shades set to work climbing. He used the random wires and modules for hand and footholds. At the top, he placed a small explosive behind each base of the three dishes. Scaling back down, he stopped somewhat near the center of the shaft, and strapped a large remote mine against the metal.  
He sought refuge in the long, horizontal tunnel he had come up from. "Detonate this, then we've got to deal with the higher security." He reminded himself, then hit the switch.   
There was a powerful silence. Then all hell broke loose on the butts of the satellites. Each fell from their post with odd similarity. Then the shaft melted and split across the middle. All of it fell harmlessly to the sand.   
But the blue light floating in the tunnel turned yet. "Damn it. Gotta' move."  
  
Shades dropped from the catwalk. "How much time do we have?" Erik asked. Shades was bolting toward him, screaming a direction, he wasn't close enough for it to make sense yet.  
It finally did. "No-time-down!" was enough. A siren blew. Erik became extra-alert, grasping his sword hilt still in the sheath. Shades reached him in a flash, but Erik spoke first in quick bursts, without even making eye contact. "You! Down! Now!"   
Shades hit the deck. The one hundred hatches lining the walls opened, revealing nearly a hundred guns per hole. At the same time, they all opened fire; Erik drew his sword. He spun the blade fluently, rolling the hilt butt over his palm and letting it flow with his fingers. The first wave of instantaneous shots reflected nicely of his edge.   
The second wave was more random, and less "all-at-once". Erik got his workout fine. Two blasts sang off his sword, each time absorbing the shock, then he fired an energy blast into one of the hatches. He continued the technique. One blast, fire, two blocks, fire, fire, and so on.  
Shades, realizing he was safe from his spot on the floor, rolled onto his side and flashed off his gun with a few rounds into the bottoms of the rows of guns. They fell and scrapped into themselves. He rolled to the other side and executed the same action. With the combination of gun, sword, and energy, the walls had become nothing but melted metal and protruding wires.  
Before the two could celebrate their victory, however, a heavy banging caught their attention from the over-sized air ducts. They followed the noise as if they were watching whatever was banging up there.   
Without warning, the sound split. It parted ways. One end of it clanged on one side, while the other, twice as noisy, made its way through a solitary duct across the middle. It stopped at a grate. In fact, both separate entities of noise stopped at the same time. "They think alike too." Shades noted.  
"Huh?" Erik said.   
Both grates fell simultaneously, and both Guardians mashed their legs together to leap through the square. They landed on either side of the room.  
"What the hell do we do??" Erik nearly burst.  
"Play it their way." He aimed to the floor. The metal was no match for the Force Generator he was packing, and he drew a crude circle, then jumped on it. He drove it clean through to the innards of the dome, then beckoned Erik to follow. Not seeing any other real option, the Vengeance officer humbly obliged.  
  
The mode of transportation consisted of non-gripped boots down a rather slippery pipe. The innards were mostly black, but with a blue tint, and hardly any light, at least none that was artificial.   
The Guardians dropped in after them. Using their spiked legs, they dug into the pipe, and therefore traveled faster. Shades took the initiative and pushed Erik ahead of him. Erik, not expecting this maneuver, lost his balance, and slid down on his rear. Worry about his companion gone, Shades halted himself, steadying himself against a rusted wheel. He didn't bother to aim, and fired off a few charges behind him.   
The Guardians didn't bother to dodge. A couple of shots make permanent grooves in various pipelines, but only two were shrugged off by the front spider. Somehow, this little upset, caused them to disappear from sight. Shades expected them to cut him off, but they never came. He found Erik waiting for him, a little disgruntled, at another large grate.   
Shades and Erik dropped from the rafters to the ground below. All the lights by then were activated, and their escape was now covered by a secondary layer of metal. "Stand back." Erik ordered, and started to charge.   
He had hardly got a spark when they both arched their upward to the ceiling above their destination. The ceiling shattered, and the two Guardians landed...and opened fire.   
"Crap!" Erik ducked behind the right pillar, Shades went left. The middle was filled with laser streams. Erik armed his sword, and dared to reflect a few shots. Every so often, Shades would volley off a few of his own. "Ya know," Erik began after reflecting another volley, "After we came up with a name for you, I haven't had to call you 'Shades' not once yet."  
"Well, there's Once." Shades breathed.   
"Anywho, before we die burning deaths, I'd like to know who my comrade was."  
There was an eerie silence. The two men looked across at each other. Perhaps it was the strange glow emitted from the blazing guns, or the pounding of the spiders' legs on the metal floor, but they were silent. Maybe the thought of both of them dying killed any paths of secrecy.  
"I'm an agent of Venoson!" Shades broke the silence across the streams.  
"Of what?!" Erik yelled back.  
The young man fired off a few more charges. "Do you know of the Infiltration Training Facility?"  
"In Africa?" he blocked several charges with his rod sword.  
"Yes!" he paused, took aim, and loosed a single shot. It sang through the Action chip in the head of a drone. "That title is just a cover for it!"  
"Is it even in Africa?" another reflection of shots.  
"Yes and no."   
Erik's confused stare asked the question for him.  
"Yes, we're in Africa. But that was only one location. We trained for six months in each continent. Learning all the tactics and secret techniques of every faction of the past and present. We are actually the Venoson, named after James Venoson, who recorded all the lessons and taught all of the first instructors."  
Erik mouthed a long "Oh" before shouldering his sword and half-standing. He brought the bottoms of his palms together, fingers bent. "Give me some cover fire!"  
Shades complied, but asked in the process, "What're you doing?"  
He brought his arms back behind him. "Showing off a classified technique." He squinted his eyes shut and focused. Beads of sweat zigzagged down his forehead. Very strained, and very gravelly, he began the incantation, "Kaaaaaaaaaammmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaay-  
The young man noticed a more than normal vibration in the floor, and ceased cover fire momentarily to notice how much Erik was trembling. He did not notice, however, from the smoke and excess ash, the bluish light emitting from the outline of Erik's palms.  
"-haaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy-  
The drones were multiplying, flooding their only way back to outskirts. But out of nowhere, Erik's eyes shot open; his face was a mix of anger, insanity, and odd composure. Teeth clenched, energy strained, he leaped in before the constant fray between the two pillars of shelter.  
"What the hell! Wait!" Shades screamed to him.  
"-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" he flung his arms forward, palms releasing, the locked in energy shining forth. The holy lance of God was unleashed upon the metallic, demonic blockade.  
The drones' sensors only picked up extreme heat that blew out their temperature moderators and a higher load of psychic energy before their cameras were blinded and their wire tendons torn asunder. In less then two seconds of mass annihilation, their path was cleared, including a gaping hole in the far wall.   
Erik was near to passing out, so the young man, after screaming a long expletive to the wreckage, half-carried/half-dragged the Sword of Vengeance officer to the outside.  
  
The night sky was gorgeous, a million shining specks smiling down upon the pair. Erik had passed out, but they were already far enough away from Trinity Beacon not to care. Certain that Erik wouldn't hear, then, he murmured to himself, "This is only the beginning."  
  
  



	2. Requiem

Chapter 2  
Requiem  
  
  
  
Shane was enjoying a normal morning entering the Council room with a fresh cup of coffee. His secretary, however, was not in her seat, nor anywhere near her desk. Shane was perplexed by the sudden lack of conformity that had resurfaced in the past two months. Could the tranquility and peace be over with already?  
His secretary could be seen all but dashing toward, then past him. This also perplexed him. It wasn't like Shane expected his coworker to be at his every whim and plea, but at least she could give a "good-morning" to him.  
  
Trunks was first to receive the word. Shane's messenger found him in his office, meditating. "Sorry to disturb you sir," she hastily apologized, "But I think you should see this. Please follow me." And she left again, glancing behind her to make sure the silent man was following her. Trunks simply nodded, stood, and adjusted his pace behind her.  
The War Room was in utter chaos. Every official and analyst was scrambling for a desk in order to sit and think about the thousands of sheets of written code each one clutched. The monitors showed constant layers of ever-changing symbols in red, blue, and even neon pink shades.  
Shane joined Trunks as he entered; Shane had been there longer before Trunks even if he got the message later than everyone else. "They've been getting nothing but this," he motioned to the monitors, "since 3 AM this morning."  
"Sir!" an ensign spoke up, "We've traced the origin!"  
Trunks had been studying the monitors and colors even when Shane had filled him in. "Venoson." He murmured.  
"What?" Shane whirled toward him.  
"Sir! The origin the Venoson Faction in North Korea!"  
Shane jolted his head back and forth from the ensign to Trunks for awhile. "How did you know?"  
"Only Venoson or the Bounty Hunters would use these encoded symbols and the Bounty Hunters haven't contacted us for six years." Trunks told flatly.  
"Well, I can see how that would be a very strong fact." Shane nodded.  
"Uh, sir?" another ensign with headgear and a mike wrapped around it to his lips, "they've broken the first sentence, they'll read it off now."  
The bustling and confusion ceased for an instant to listen and/or read. The monitors became a blank, flickering blue, and the type drew across it as the ensign echoed over the mike, "Looks can be deceiving."  
"What the hell?" Shane exclaimed.  
  
Sesix was rather enjoying his night flight, making sure to stay above the clouds. His main worries were dwelling on Savi, his old master, who had so easily killed him then revived him. "Perhaps to prove something..." Savi's words echoed in his mind.  
He was losing altitude fast without realizing it. Sesix accepted it and stopped enjoying the night sky, taking a perch atop a giant gargoyle head. These humans walk the streets without any hopes or dreams of absolute power. Can none of them sense its presence? Sesix let the thoughts drift around him as he floated somewhat peacefully back to the clouds.   
Sesix found himself floating before the moon, staring into its glowing blue bathing light. Then... Something shook. It wasn't a building, or a person, or the planet. It was itself reality itself shivered rapidly for a few seconds. Sesix found himself spontaneously vibrating with the rest of the planet, but not terribly.  
  
Tren's cup of tea clattered with its shaking against its holder. He darted his head around, tensing fast. "A tear." He murmured, "A tear in space. A jumper." He searched the windows with his eyes, but found nothing.  
  
Sesix stopped staring at the moon, and turned slowly in the air to sound like an odd hybrid of a screeching car, and the ripping of construction paper, topped with a soothing tone. The tone was the sound your ear would put to a flooding light, something solid and clear.   
The fabric of the dark blue night sky was slowly cut open, a glowing white jagged slash in the blue. When the cut was finished, it widened. Further and further it expanded, and all it revealed was silvery metallic edge. When it could consume the length of twenty football fields it halted. The silver edge moved, and Sesix quickly realized it was the beginning of a hull and the small amount of leeway around it gave way to the vacuum of space at last.  
Sesix forced his flight to his back to keep himself from being sucked into the black abyss and watched with stunned perplexity the sight that was ascending upon him. The shape was, put simply, a starship, now only half submerged from the crack, and it was hastening its pace.   
In a matter of a few more seconds, the ship was fully visible, and crack was repairing itself. Now it was gone, and only this silver and black bullet filled the sky, and blocked the moonlight. Without warning, bright searchlights appeared and floated alongside the ship, blinding Sesix and any innocents caught in the fray below. Blinding the innocents from what happened next.  
Sesix's atmosphere was enclosed in burning laser fire. His survival instincts kicked in. The reasoning behind the sudden assault was nowhere to be found, but he found his courage, summoning an orbison case to surround him from harm. Then he found his rage, and his hands became giant spheres of destructive energy. And they were thrown asunder into the ship's shields.  
  
The watchtowers surrounding the city had noticed the light show and notified the nearest militia: Direct's.   
Maron was first to receive word, and donned her battle uniform, custom made.   
  
Both volleys ceased fire. The ship's headlights dissipated from view. Sesix stood with small, gold energy streams rising off his armor. The two combatants stared each other down, if starships could do such a thing. They didn't have much time to contemplate each other, thanks to another couple pairs of spotlights raining down on their positions.   
Odd thing is, the spotlight for the starship shown through it, only intensifying what the moon had already done, and when it cascaded back down upon Sesix, the ship was gone.  
"Stay where you are and we will not engage!" Maron's amplified voice filled the night sky. "Show hostility and we will follow suit!" She was on a small hovercycle, armed with two Force cannons on its flanks, and backed by three battle cruisers.  
Ignoring them, Sesix's streams of rising energy came back and swirled around him before he zipped away from them. Only Maron's cycle could keep speed enough to keep the lord in her sights. She dodged to right from an incoming surge of power. She didn't dodge quite fast enough as it nailed the cycle's fuel reserves. "Fine, have it your way." She leapt off the cycle, and let it drift to its doom.   
Maron, on the other hand, assumed flight, her own violet trails of energy swirling around her. However, once again, the lord seemed far too fast. Knowing that powering up to fully pursue would attract too much attention, she let the thermals carry her gently to a rooftop, and waited patiently for the battle cruisers.  
  
Sesix found sanctuary in a long, abandoned alley and workshop on the outskirts, the Old City. His peace, however, wasn't long.  
"Sesix!" Tren appeared from above and landed at knee, then stood.  
"Ah, it's you. Tell me, veteran, was it you who composed that lovely little starship jumper. I must say it was quite...unpleasant." Sesix said with an odd tone.  
"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about." Tren said flatly.  
"Mmm." He growled, his eyes immediately closed and reopened to glow and fire two streams of power. The module on Tren's left forearm glowed and formed a grid energy shield, which he leveled in front of him to block.   
"You can't hurt me Sesix." He said from behind the shield, the lord's eyes smoked, closed, and reopened to be normal again as Tren continued, "You came here with the refugees, we know that much. You have a home and protection if you abide by our code and join to voluntary services to the factions."  
Sesix said nothing to the offer, only stared at nothing.  
"I'm giving you a chance here, Sesix, one you should not refuse."  
Finally, he responded, taking a sincere tone. "You know I respect you Tren, and your actions toward me. Thus, I shall give you my answer." There was a long pause, then... Sesix dashed forward, kicked through the shield, and flipped back to his position. Tren flew through the brick wall behind him. "Hell no!" and he sped into the sky, laughing.  
An armored hand found its grasp on the crumbling wall and Tren vaulted himself up. Looking to the black figure disappearing, he murmured, "Oh, what am I going to with him?"  
  
  
Tom leaned back on his cot, his ice pack nearly all melted. A few band-aid wrappers and sore medicine capsules had found their home on the carpeting. The boy who had joined in on the fight, Alec, was seated in Indian-style, having strapped his own ice pack actually onto his head. "So how much trouble do you think we'll get into?"  
Tom grunted, then chuckled, staring at the ceiling fan. "You'll get off with only your bruises, I'll probably get called down any second now." He sighed.  
An odd silence filled the room, as if their sores were the only subject of conversation and that had already been done three times over again. Alec broke the silence, "So...Thanks for letting me stay in the civilian quarters."  
Tom looked at him now. He was a medium built boy, somewhere in his early twenties. His light black hair betrayed the crimson-gold of his eyes, and, as intense as they were in battle, they softened any expression now. Alec was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with black arms and gray torso, along with a sleeveless vest unzipped over it, still revealing a black dragon on the front of the shirt. "Don't mention it..." Tom didn't take his eyes away, "You look a little familiar. What's your name?"  
"I told you my name. Alec."  
"Last name." Tom demanded.  
"Oh, Johnson."  
Pretty generic name for an outlander. Oh well, what the hell. Tom went back to the ceiling. Alec had gotten up and entered the hallways.  
  
Leon had finally made sense of the lower levels of Wing's residence areas. They were nearly as or more confusing than his older slum-like streets, but at least they were nicer. He was walking the halls back to his own room, only a few actual civilians also rendered homeless by the Assassins passing him in the other direction. His eyes, for a reason he did not understand, locked with another's, who was passing more slowly than the others.  
Alec and Leon's eyes latched onto each other and held, even as they continued walking. Their heads had to compensate for the link by turning themselves. Only when the strain grew too much upon their necks did they break away. Those gold-tinted eyes...  
  
"Hey! I said you can't come down here! What, are you deaf?" the guard was doing his best to stop the Young Man dubbed "Shades" from passing into the underground of the Direct Investigation Facility. Shades lifted his right sleeve and revealed his arm only to the guard, who hesitated, then stepped back with open eyes.  
He descended the long flights of stairs into the abysmal basement of the Direct building, causing sudden alarm to any passing scientists on their routine runs. He found the Morg without much trouble.   
The guard at the sealed door stopped him, causing the young man to once again lift his sleeve and reveal a red "V" carved into the flesh and healed over as a scar, then tattooed over still. This caused quite a commotion.  
"What the- A-a Venoson!? Here?" At the mention of the word "Venoson", multiple guards both stood at attention and also readied their firearms. A graduated agent of the Venoson faction hadn't shone up anywhere except in the desert for the last fifteen years.  
"Calm your adrenaline." Shades murmured, "And let me pass." Reluctantly, the guard stood aside and Shades walked. He moved as if he knew the way, with now near to forty armed officers trailing him. He found his way to the morgue.   
Nudging past the disgruntled scientists that became even more confused by the pursuing MPs, Shades scanned along the rows of numbered specimens not-quite-past investigation. He stopped at one labeled 9615: Torik Stronkhold.  
Shane had joined the fray piled into the room now. He watched as the young man rolled out the body.   
"Hey! What the hell do ya' think you're doing?" Shane stepped to stop the young man but was caught by Trunks' arm gripping his shoulder. His comrade shook his head ever so slightly. Shane stopped and watched.  
Shades traced his fingers over the bluish face, then circled and twitched around the cheekbone. They gripped, lifted, then tore. A gasped groan filled the room as Shades removed a considerable chunk of raw flesh from the face. The hole shone not bone or muscle, but more skin, except red and moldy; old corpse skin.  
"Oh my God." One guard covered his mouth as not to throw up.   
"Just as I figured. A man dead for two months and all he did was turn a translucent blue...didn't even begin to deteriorate."  
"Hold on! What the heck are you saying?"  
Shades sighed, then said his statement slowly, "This man's name is unknown to me, but I do know that he is not Torik Stronkhold." And before anyone could ask a solid "how?" he removed his shades and scarf, letting them drop to the floor. "Because I am Torik Stronkhold."  
  



	3. Confusion

Chapter 3  
Confusion  
  
Anyone near Torik did a double take to the corpse and back to Torik, then repeated the process. Both male and female investigators and scientists fainted at the sight as well. And Shane stood frozen.  
Torik, the Torik, was different from the body lying before them. His hair was the same dark blond, his eyes the same hazel-green, but the hair style and how he stood was highly different. Torik held two separate locks of a higher streak of his dark brows lining the edges of his face. His eyebrows depicted an expression of extreme calm and satisfaction.  
"Downstairs. Now." Shane ordered, MPs flanking him.  
Torik turned calmly to Shane, a small, gentle smile now forever riding on his face. "As you wish." He answered politely.  
As they were leaving, Shane reached out and touched Trunks' arm, "Find Bra and a Mitchell Skos, Aidam's alleged second-in-command for this analysis, then join us." And they were out the door.   
  
Bra was leaning with her forehead on her office window, fresh rain streaking down it. Trunks appeared in the doorway, but waited for her.  
"What is it, brother?" she asked, unmoving.  
"You miss him don't you?" she closed her eyes. He sighed, "I never got to ask, how was the dance?"  
"Ah," Bra laughed indignantly, "it never happened. He wasn't there when I got back."  
"That so?"  
"Bet that makes you very happy, huh?" she spat at him.  
"Analysis in the lower wing. Your presence is ordered. You wouldn't believe who just showed up." As he left he called back, "You know the way of course!"  
  
Mitchell was having a nervous but pleasant conversation with Maron in the West Hall, near her workroom.  
"Ha, ha aha, well, didn't he ask you?" she inquired.  
"Well, yeah, he asked me to come."  
"Why didn't you say 'yes', Mitch?" her tone changed a little.  
Mitch chose his words carefully. "Yeah, he asked me to come with him, me being his sort of second-in-command, but I told him that I was, sort of, finding a life here to stay with."  
"He would've taken you into space! Outer space!" Mitch only shrugged and shifted his weight. Maron leaned back a bit and lightly shook her finger at Mitch, "Now, see, last time we met, after we had dispersed with pleasantries and all the technical stuff, you went on and on about space and how you just wanted to get away from this world."  
"Well, that was, before, you, came along." Mitch worked out each word as if it were sticking to his tongue. Maron leaned further back and gave him a look that asked, How so?  
Mitch stuttered now, shifting his weight more rapidly. "No, I mean, uh, what I mean is, uh, when you came along with your skills and order, and, and you put together...the suit. The suit just, was, amazing, you had put stuff in that I didn't tell you, to put in, and I never got a chance to thank you. I mean, the-the shock absorbers, the enhanced speed, all-all of them were pleasant surprises." He let out a quick sigh and unsure smile.  
"Gotcha." Maron laughed at his effort.  
"Mitchell!" Trunks dashed in from the west wing. "You're needed. East Wing, underground. I've already collected Bra for analysis." He turned his eyes on Maron. "You're allowed to come too, Maron, but you'll have to remain aside. No questions."  
"Understood." Maron nodded. "But I'm coming."  
Trunks looked back and forth at them, eyes wide. Well, what are you waiting for? "Let's move." He turned on his heel and strode east. Mitch and Maron exchanged looks and followed.  
  
  
The interrogation room was a door, a glowing white walkway leading into a circle where the accused would stand. Also from the door to either was one row forming the circumference of the bright circle that met at the highest podium, where Shane now sat, with Trunks to his left and Christopher to his right, both on slightly lower podiums. One colossal spotlight shone down on them, but mostly on Torik, who stood in the center of the circle. The only other lights were blue tinted, as if for an eerie effect.   
Mitch and Maron entered in silence as Bra asked the first inquiry, "Can you straight out prove that you are indeed Torik Stronkhold?"  
"I proved that the other is an imposter." Was the relaxed answer.  
"But you could also be the same." Hyle piped up.  
"I am of Venoson, where Torik was sent by his father, Aidam. My father."  
"Do you know of his recent actions?" Trunks chimed in, ready to tear into any relation to his rival.  
"Of him taking a large section of your officers and infantry into space using a starship jumper christened the Freeshade? Yes."  
"Do you justify them?" Trunks became a shade darker, oddly. Bra looked over to him, wondering what he was getting at and what this had to do with Torik.  
"Do not condone my father's sins against me." Torik returned with tranquility.   
"You don't support his actions?" Trunks was trying to get something out, but in vain.  
"His actions do not reflect my own. You showed us this with your own actions many years ago." Trunks was silenced. "But it seems your rivalry with Aidam has blinded your own memories."  
"Enough!" Shane yelled, but Torik was done.  
"What exactly are doing here?" Mitch spoke up.  
Torik turned to him, softening at this new voice. "First I came stop the interception of our message to you."  
"In order to do that you'd have to knock out an immensely powerful satellite beacon to free up the air waves enough. And we all know that every beacon is heavily guarded." Hyle shot out into the room.  
"That is why I called upon some help." Torik responded.  
"And what did you do with this, 'help'?" Shane asked.  
"I infiltrated the Trinity Beacon and destroyed their satellites first, then the main control shaft."  
"Why destroy the satellites separately, with two detonations? Wouldn't it have been easier to simply destroy only the shaft?" Shane inquired.  
"I'm surprised you asked that, councilman." Torik returned. "You being an ex-bounty hunter and all, you of all people should know." This sent a rumble of murmurs and hushed exclamations. Shane bristled. "But I shall humor you for the sake of others present. Any piece of equipment operated by the BH sub-faction is simply waiting to be sabotaged. Especially satellite dishes. When the main control shaft of any satellite has been destroyed, the dishes send out a back-up signal immediately, which 1) causes the detonation of its place of operations, and 2) contacts any Bounty Hunters in the vicinity to come and pick up the pieces. However, if the base of each dish is destroyed simultaneously, then they can no longer have the opportunity to even send a signal, their secondary power sources already decimated."  
"Good enough?" Torik finished with, directed toward Shane, who nodded shallowly.   
"So where is this message?" Hyle asked. His wave of skepticism was uncanny.  
"It should be analyzed by now by your specialists of your control room. You must have more than the first sentence, I trust."  
"We'll see to that when the time comes. Why did you not show yourself earlier?" Mitch was gaining more experience in the council atmosphere, thus gaining more confidence.  
"I had to conclude my training in the desert, near North City."  
"The Ghost City." Bra murmured.  
The ensign from the control room burst in, a thin piece of printed paper clutched in his hand. "We've got it sir." He brought the paper to Shane, who took it slowly. "The message, entirely decoded."  
"Good work ensign, we'll analyze it after-  
"Read it now." Torik politely demanded.  
"Excuse me?" Shane had heard him, he was only testing his guts.  
"I want them to hear it. So this whole room can hear what we were trying to tell you."  
Shane was frozen, still holding the paper. Only when Chris snatched the paper did he wake up.   
"Christopher!" Shane started to him, but Trunks' arm blocked him, then calmed him.  
Chris read, "Looks can be deceiving. This is the Venoson Specialist Training Facility writing to you. This message was encoded so our enemies would not be able to detect our intentions. The Torik Stronkhold who came to you one month ago is not Torik Stronkhold, but a Bounty Hunter Specialist named Terrence Jackson." Torik had a sharp intake of breath through his nose at the name. "We are sending the real Torik Stronkhold, now finished with his training, to tell you what he can and aid you in the investigation of the matter. Strength to you all." Chris folded the paper. "Well? Tell us what you can." He ordered.  
"Very well. You were meant to receive that message long before I got here. The Trinity Beacon was blocking our frequencies used to normally reach you. It needed to be eliminated somehow so our word could reach you." Torik sighed, telling them that they knew the rest of that segment. "I have three main objectives to do here. The first is a question of honor, the second is to get to the bottom of why Mr. Jackson sought to impersonate me, and the third is the infiltration of an underground headquarters on the outskirts."   
The room bustled with voices and shifting limbs. "We know that the Bounty Hunters are up to something. We're not entirely sure what yet, but we do know it has something to do with our satellites. They're contacting someone, or something, and we have to find out who or what."  
"No further questions. Everyone is allowed to take a twenty minute recess to gather your thoughts." Trunks stood up.  
  
"Trunks, calm down." Hyle said.  
Trunks was pacing around the room, grumbling. Shane was looking equally peeved.  
"Ugh, this is such a load of bull." Shane grunted. "Torik Stronkhold is dead, Darin even saw him with his own eyes." He looked to Hyle, "Even we did."  
Hyle spoke up, "Yes, the Torik Stronkhold we met and shook hands with is stone-dead. However, this Torik is 1) a Venoson, meaning he possesses all the techniques and knowledge of every factional officer in existence, thus making him a supreme asset to whichever faction he joins. And 2) he knows every nook and cranny of our backgrounds, the Bounty Hunters, and even before the Gang Wars."  
Shane and Trunks let the information sink in and turn over in their heads. "But do we allow him any requests?"  
"We should if we hope to gain his favor. All we've shown him is disrespect and hostility so far." Hyle explained.  
"Hey, he barged into our morgue." Shane exclaimed.  
"True, but he did point out something quite important to our attention." Trunks said slowly.  
"I don't care, I don't know if I can stand this barrage on our security. How much of this will leak to the public?"  
"None." Chris appeared at the door. "He's been nothing but honest and true so far, and Venoson hold to their word. Now, it's time."   
  
2 hours later...  
  
"We must bury Terrence Jackson. That must be the first order of operations."   
"What?" Shane was red now and fuming.  
"Although I am a Venoson and he was a Bounty Hunter, and we are enemies, we do agree on one thing."  
"And what is that?" Hyle called out.  
"Honor, gentlemen. He did his service to his faction, therefore he deserves an honest and noble funeral, if you will accommodate him."  
"Do you believe you're even in the position to ask us to-  
"We will hold the funeral, Torik." Trunks stood from his seat beside Shane, cutting him off. "And you will be allowed to head the investigation and run it as you see fit." Trunks sat back down with a sigh. "As for your infiltration..."  
"I do not ask for the help of Direct, I will find other comrades to aid me."  
"Hold on, you came to us!" Shane accused.  
"No, I came to Vengeance. That is how you were able to receive and decode that message so easily."  
"Cease this hopeless debate!" Simon descended from the ceiling, positioning himself before Torik. The room was immediately silenced. Shane all but glared at Simon's interruption. Trunks sat up higher to see what would happen. "This is ludicrous. This boy has come to us to aid with his knowledge of our pasts and to help our futures." He directed the next comment to Torik, quieter, "We will hold your requests, and you will head the investigation."  
"Yes." Torik nodded. The room was dismissed...  
  
The office's doors slid silently open. The young man entered slowly. "Normally, one knocks." Simon zoomed down to face Torik on the floor.   
"Don't get all bent out of shape." Torik pushed past the metal torso. "It might hurt your gears."  
Simon flung swiftly back in his face. "I would show some respect, I did just save your, ahem, ass, back there." His voice may have been digital, but it commanded authority.  
"Listen, I apologize, but I know who you are." Torik stood his ground, getting serious. "You really think this is immortality?" he tapped at the metal frame of Simon.  
"How do you know of me, of who I am?" Simon lifted a bit.  
"Your name is definitely NOT Simon, I know this. And I know your acquaintance with that of Trunks."   
"You wouldn't dare..." Simon warned.  
"I won't, Vegeta." Torik hissed, "You should trust me by now."  
Vegeta's sturdy, metallic frame shivered. His actual name had never been mentioned so casually for some time, especially to his face. The pure sound of it felt awkward.   
Torik had made his way over to the windows. Vegeta noticed the move and followed up a little behind him and to the side. "One hell of a view, my friend. What a sunset."  
"Yes." He replied quietly, then accessed the time. "You'd better get going. Your enemy will be buried with the sun. Covered with the dawn."  
"Indeed."  
  
  
The pastor was swift and subtle, eager to leave. But his words traveled half-heartedly on. Terrence's coffin was long and black, draped with a red and gold flag. Two gold guns, firing, their beams crossing, lay toward the middle. Behind it flew a red hawk. The backdrop for the scene was blacker than the coffin itself.  
The wind was lighter, as if stilling itself to set the mood. All those that came were told to come from the council, and even record the event to send to the Bounty Hunters if any other threats came up. But there was no absolute grief on any face. All council members wore black cloaks, Trunks in his dark blue, and Torik remained his refurbished desert armor. Trunks and Torik stood side by side, an odd sight concluded by the other members.  
Shane could not pull his eyes from the young Stronkhold. Torik held no demeanor resemblance to Aidam whatsoever, he carried himself differently. This funeral actually means something to him.  
"May you rest in peace, amen." The pastor blankly ended. He dully turned to the dark lever, used to begin the coffin's fall into the earth. "Who shall do the honors?"  
Various council members coughed deliberately under their breath. "Honor my ass." Hyle murmured below them.  
Shane began to move with a sigh, thinking his ancestry to be an appropriate reason. The Venoson moved before him. Another odd sight.  
Torik quietly stepped forward and pulled the lever. The flag-draped coffin descended slowly into the earth, a faint whirring filling the silence. Those who came for the sermon were long gone. The final stragglers sifted away. Hyle had been standing in the back, his face contorted in anger and disgust. Now he stepped forward and grotesquely spit onto the disappearing flag. With one last look at Trunks, he whirled and left.  
Torik and Trunks remained. Torik looked straight out at the rolling hills of graves. "Was it right?" he asked out loud.  
"To bury him? Yes." Trunks answered him, "To throw the switch? I don't know." Torik was then silent. "There will come a time when you won't have to ask whether it was right or not, only that it's done, and you must accept it. You know that you did it because you felt you had to. You were justified."  
Torik paused, thinking. "I know." He chuckled, "You're a lot more philosophical than Aidam made you out to be." He looked up at him, "I'm glad you don't seem to want to humiliate me."  
"Do you envy him?" Trunks asked vaguely.  
Torik didn't have to think. "No."  
"I don't mean Aidam." Trunks cleared.  
"I know." And they stood in silence, the cloak around Trunks holding like stone in the still wind. They were untouchable, but separate. As they would remain.  
  



	4. Pieces

1 Chapter 4  
  
1.1 Pieces  
  
  
  
"Enter." Tren's voice echoed. The hydraulics in the doors had beeaving some difficulties. After a few aggravated minutes, the door creakepen, but only halfway. Keith Alcolm squeezed himself in between thegments. He carried with him a black folder.  
  
He strode diligently and quickly over to Tren's desk and took a seat.  
Keith glanced back at the door and gave a humorous cringe. "So when'hat supposed to be fixed?"  
  
"Oh, the door?" Tren had been a bit dazed. "I'll be damned if theet it done in a month." He turned his attention to the black folder.  
"Well?"  
  
"Oh, right!" Keith had apparently had a bit of a long week, and ong time to prepare his speech for Tren. However, as of now, he haompletely forgotten the entire presentation. He did, though, remember thpening statement. "Factionalism must be abolished."  
  
Tren leaned back in his chair. Keith was expecting him to laugh ais faltered attempt to sound professional, but the armored man stayetern. "I know."  
  
Keith's eyes widened. He had also prepared an entire argumentatiocenario to convince Tren of his idea, he never thought the Exoduresident would actually agree with him.  
  
Tren continued on the thought, "I realize that you want to unite the  
Factions." Keith nodded. "In order to do that we would have to first likach other, and we've at least gotten that ball rolling, but it will takime."  
  
"Can't we speed it up somehow?"  
  
"I expect that the new generation will do that without realizing it."  
  
Keith cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow at thomment.  
  
  
  
Torik crouched down on his hunches, staring at the gravestone. Had been there for maybe close to two hours, just staring and thinking. Aast he started talking, maybe to himself or Terrence's corpse or both.  
"What the hell am I sitting out here for? Do you know? No, no I don't.  
I'm lost." He stood up and paced before the grave. "What is it that yoeeded? Why did you need to become me?"  
  
He stopped pacing. "Who are you?"  
  
Hyle sat against the fence surrounding the stones. The gate creakepen, then clanged shut. Torik stood still, thinking. "So, did you geny visions?" Hyle mocked.  
  
Torik chose his words carefully, "You shouldn't show that attitude ie're to work together in solving this case."  
  
"Look, I don't have to like you. And I won't respect you if yoespect than damn Bounty Hunter. That freaking murderer." Hyle stood,  
throwing his cigarette in the ground.  
  
"I don't recall you smoking." Torik observed.  
  
"Let's go meet up with Chris." He put his hands in his pockets antarted off.  
  
"The Bounty Hunters did something to your life." Torik stated. Hylalted.  
  
He responded quietly, "Let's go find Chris."  
  
  
Chris leaned back in the officer's lounge, taking the opportunity telax. The opportunity didn't last too long, however, as Hyle angriltormed into the room. "Get up, I need to talk." Yep, Hyle was definitelissed, but Chris did not get up.  
  
Instead, the councilman ordered Hyle to shut the door. "Do it beforour head explodes." Hyle not-so-humbly obliged.  
  
  
The top floor of Direct was extraordinarily clean. Nothing lined thalls. No panels or portraits hung to showcase their history. Only a feaster living quarters settled up here.  
  
Torik exited his elevator with curiosity. He was amazed by thesolateness of the top floor, but he knew where he was going. The finauarters on the right. Before his hand could touch the keypad, omputerized voice ordered him to identify himself.  
  
A security simulator up here? OK. "Torik Stronkhold, here to see the  
Tactical Administrator, Syria Shoven."  
  
What answered wasn't the computer, but a quiet, anguished voice. "Why dou come here? What do you want from me?"  
  
"I need to talk to you." Torik whispered back.  
  
"Leave, immediately." The voice hissed.  
  
"I can't do that, I apologize, but I must know what you know for thionfusion to end."  
  
"I said, to leave me in peace."  
  
"Once again, I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Either you talk to me or yoalk to one of my rather virulent partner as of now, for later, if he eveools off."  
  
Shheeeuuwaa! The door slid open then, revealing the gentle curves of  
Syria, standing just at the edge of the door.  
  
"Uh, good afternoon." Torik respectfully bowed to her. She smiled weaklt his politeness.  
  
"Why aren't you leaving?"  
  
"Why do you want me to leave?" Torik asked in return. "You've been in youuarters for nearly two weeks straight. One could get worried about you."  
He smiled gently.  
  
Syria paused for a long while, staring into Torik's eyes. She noticehose same sky blue eyes. The same confidence. And the same charm. "Comn." she backed up to allow him entrance.  
  
Torik came into the darkened room with caution. Everyone had beeariously on edge since his arrival and the awakening of the truth. Also,  
anyone involved with his father had elapsed into a state of a depression oome kind and hidden themselves away from the rest of the staff. At thaoment, he felt the responsibility for politeness and the urge to breahis wake of cowardice that has swept over the Faction.  
  
"I'm only telling you this because you're HIS son." Syria whispered.  
For some reason, maybe it was the light, or lack of it; she looked muclder and paler. She stepped slowly over to her couch and gingerly took eat, still not looking at him. "When the Elimination process was stoppey that Enforcer and the Orson kid, Aidam was more than angry."  
  
"So he planned the Elimination?"  
  
"It was a tactic no one used anymore." She shook her head. "Aidam thoughhat unearthing it would somehow heighten his resolve. It didn't."  
  
Torik brought her back, "What did he do?"  
  
"He…He regretted it. He wanted to erase it from ever happening."  
  
"You can't erase the past. It's done." Torik paced around the room. Still  
Syria did not look at him.  
  
Finally she spoke, her voice was heavy and breathless. "Aidam hired  
Hunter."  
  
Torik's head turned to one side toward her. He wasn't actually lookinoward her, but his eyes felt close nonetheless.  
  
"He was surprised when Hunter agreed to the deal."  
  
"What exactly WAS the deal?"  
  
"Most of its specifics were not told to me, but one thing I did know ihat it would be blamed on the Bounty Hunters." She chuckled, "I'd saihat that would have made the decision for Hunter."  
  
"A no?"  
  
"Exactly. Why would he want to desecrate his own illegal Faction?"  
  
"Indeed." Torik gazed out to the cloudy day, the sun breaching through onln short spurts, even then as slits in the skyline. "I'll bother you nore."  
  
Syria looked to him finally, twisting around. He seemed to sink into thilhouette made around him. At that moment, she knew his emotions aneelings for his father were waging war on each other. After a minute thaasted longer, he pushed off the window and started toward the door. Hassed the couch briskly, with no intention of lingering. She intentltood.  
  
"Torik." Her voice was soft. She held out her hand. In it was mall, folded white slip. "I have the name of a Runner. His informatiore what led Aidam to Hunter."  
  
Torik eagerly took the slip, sticking in his jacket. "Does he stileep contact?"  
  
Syria nodded, "He's a little, well, skittish."  
  
"Most Runners are, too much sugar." Torik grinned, then abruptleft.  
  
"Good luck, Torik." Syria whispered to the dark.  
  
  
"Aidam, ahem, my father, needed someone at the time to get rid ohose that had stopped his plan before. Those that had stopped Cinder."  
Torik had been pacing back and forth in the small lounge, Chris once agaiesting on the couch. He had stopped when he had an idea going.  
  
"Hunter has a band of skilled assassins, Aidam hires Hunter.  
Meanwhile, while they're biding their time, Aidam has second thoughts ohe entire situation and instead only targets Kane, the Enforcer. And  
Hunter poses a heavy interest in the force mechanism." Torik starteacing, lost again. "But how does Terrence fit into the scenario."  
  
"What was Terrence?" Chris already knew the answer, but was simplushing Torik into the decision. Chris had found himself as somewhat of uide, even if he was wrong in some instances.  
  
"He was a trickster, improviser…An Actor." It dawned on him. Toriegan speaking so fast it was hard for even Chris to follow the mess odeas.  
  
"Hunter created the distraction, of well, me, but actually Terrenco occupy Aidam and give him the means to escape with the Force cannon tbtain his own objective."  
  
"Hmm, sounds about right." Chris chuckled.  
  
"What we don't know," Torik slowed down, "Is what the hell thabjective was."  
  
"We should take a rest."  
  
Torik looked around. "Where's Hyle?" Chris' silence said thbvious. "Where is he Chris?"  
  
"It isn't your place to ask." He maneuvered.  
  
"He's my partner." Torik argued.  
  
"He's my friend." Chris stated.  
  
"What is it with him? Why is this case so taxing on him?" Torisked.  
  
"Like I said, it isn't your business. If he wanted to tell you, hould." Chris asserted.  
  
Torik and Chris locked glaring eyes for a moment. They bore intach other, looking for answers. They found none that were clear, onlints of pasts. "What did they do to him?" Torik finally asked, noreaking the glare.  
  
Chris' eyebrows rose at his assertion. "Even I can't tell you that.  
He never talks about it." He broke gaze, questioning himself for anstance. Looking back up, he whispered his only hint to Hyle'hereabouts. "Because of them, he has nothing left to lose."  
  
Torik lightly bowed, and was gone immediately.  
  
  
Hyle knelt at three specific gravestones, smoking again. The birdhirped and the wind was weak. Hyle was wearing his black jacket, with neal caring as to how the collar was set. As it was, the collar waticking up all around his neck, covering and shading his sharp face. Hilack hair was parted in the middle, but was still a little messy. A fetrands had found their way across his forehead, but the locks were shornough not to hinder his vision.  
  
Hyle's green eyes read across the stones. Claire Erikson…… Jon  
Erikson……  
  
"Crap." Hyle murmured. He reached out and rubbed some of the grimff his sister's gravestone. Underneath lay a shining, metallic surface.  
Hyle saw Torik in the reflection.  
  
"How old were you?" Torik asked gently.  
  
Hyle stood, dropped his cigarette, pulverizing it into the grass.  
"Obviously not old enough."  
  
"I can understand."  
  
"How the hell would YOU know!?" Hyle whirled on him. "How in God'ame would you understand??"  
  
Torik sighed. "You cannot make assumptions only by a person'ccupation."  
  
"Answer me!"  
  
"Trunks made an assumption of me based on my father. Based on mlood."  
  
"Damn you! Answer!" Hyle plunged forward, hiking Torik up by theck of his coat. Torik did nothing. "How could you sit and watch as theassacred one sibling after another? Huh!?" he dropped the Venoson. "Hoan you understand?"  
  
"I know what it's like to watch death come, time and time again, tover and strike blows upon my life. But I suppose I can't say I knoecause I can't measure the magnitude of the blow it had on you. But I caay that Terrence was not as bloodthirsty and horrible as what you haitnessed."  
  
Hyle composed himself again, this time angry and indignant. "Is thihat they taught you at Venoson? I thought you were taught to hunt down  
Bounty Hunters."  
  
"We were also taught to understand them. Terrence was a trickster,  
he caused mischief, but he didn't kill anyone."  
  
"He was the instrument used to raise hell here! In all certainty,  
because of him, we lost the Freeshade and half our military strength!"  
  
Torik softened even further, "And our job is to find out why. Yore angry, but you can't stay that way forever. There will come a timhen you can't justify yourself anymore."  
  
Hyle stopped. "You've been talking to Trunks haven't you?" Thiade Torik grin. In turn, Hyle grinned. Then Torik giggled and Hyliggled. And the two young men shared in a good belly laugh, the same kinhe human emotion uses to deal with others, even in awkward moments.  
  
  
The alleyways near the outskirts wreaked of mildew and grime. Thmoke rising from the sewers was fitting enough for the atmosphere. Iasn't as if the scum of the earth roamed or anything, it was just a gooiding place for those exiled by society. Torik found the settinurprisingly humble.  
  
The young Venoson looked once again at his surroundings. He hatopped in a dank crossroads, each path masked by a wave of smoke, eacith its own personal set of vents in the ground. The furthest ahead oim had a darkness moving about it. He was startled when a small facrotruded from the mist and gazed at him. The face spoke, "Are you the  
Venoson?" it asked in a hushed whisper.  
  
Torik nodded. "Hurry, before we're seen!" A tiny hand flowed frohe mist as well and beckoned him. Torik quickened his cautious step. Hmerged through the gray and found himself in a dead end. Why am I  
trusting this guy? Torik thought as he realized no one was there waitinor him. He carefully made his way further into the corridor.  
  
"Venoson, sir?" Torik's heart skipped a beat at the voice, his senseuiding him to the roof at his left. The sun had just peaked its wahrough the clouds down to them. The Runner was in a crouched position, ieminded Torik of a frog. His shape was silhouetted atop the lower terracf the roof. The Runner's grin showed a white streak over his dark face,  
flashing some unusually white teeth. He immediately dropped onto thavement before Torik, landing on all fours. He arched his body back utraight, well, as straight as he could make it with his curved back. "I  
am sorry, Mr. Torik, sir, but I wanted to be sure you were not followed.  
Not many take kindly to Venoson in these corridors." The Runner shifted hieight.  
  
"And what if I was?" Torik asked.  
  
"I would run."  
  
"And leave me to fight."  
  
"Yes…" The Runner nodded vigorously.  
  
"Let's cut to the chase Runner."  
  
"Yessir!"  
  
Torik quietly stepped a little closer to the Runner, who in turkittered a few steps back. Torik smiled at the terrified messenger.  
"Calm yourself, Runner, I won't hurt you."  
  
"Miss Syria told me that, sir." The Runner recalled happily.  
  
Torik grinned at Syria's mention. He glanced back down at the sheehe had given him. "Skit." He experimented.  
  
The Runner jerked up and stood a little more rigid, unsure if heard the Venoson correctly. "That is your name, correct?"  
  
Skit erected even further, pausing, then suddenly nodded vigorously,  
smiling now. It seemed the mention of his name killed any uncertaintoward Torik that he had felt. He grinned happily, "I am ready to tell yohat I know."  
  
Torik grinned back, "I am ready to listen."  
  
"Terrence wasn't one to take his targets, sir." Skit got right intt. He had been briefed before by Syria as to the information Torieeded. "He instead chose to impersonate them." Torik lifted an eyebrow.  
"He even got all the fixings for them, all the make-up, the voice maskers,  
everything."  
  
"Wouldn't he be hunted then?" Torik asked.  
  
"The commanders didn't like it at first, they denounced him anemoted his rank, but that didn't stop him. He continued to impersonatis targets seamlessly." Skit paused, collecting his thoughts. "I caecall an instance when his actions aided one bounty hunter with importannformation on her target's whereabouts. This pleased the commanders anhey realized his use."  
  
Torik thought if he should say it. He did. "Was I one of hiargets?"  
  
Skit faltered, but recovered, his speech momentarily disfigured. I-  
in one sense, yes. You were a target, but more his character to portray."  
  
"I see, go on."  
  
"Yes, well, the commanders thought this to be too much of a task, anlso would end in failure on both sides, but Terrence had been progressinis parts higher and higher in the social class. You, Mr. Torik, were thext big step."  
  
Torik's face showed now no confusion, only absolution. "He wanted to gut with a bang." He laughed lightly, "No pun intended."  
  
The Runner looked nervously around, in no mood for humor.  
  
"I'm just trying to loosen you up, Skit." Torik consoled.  
  
"Sorry, Mr. Torik, s-sir." The Runner stuttered, "I'm not used to ind Venoson." The quick messenger gave a nervous smile.  
  
"Understood." Torik laughed. "Is there anything else you can tell mbout Mr. Jackson. Anything, the way he clipped his toenails?"  
  
The Runner actually snickered at the joke, but then composed himsels much as he could. "He wasn't too fond of one of our Commanders…"  
  
"Hunter?"  
  
"…..I don't know…." Skit's eyes darted around, then went to his feet.  
He shifted his weight from side to side.  
  
"Skit?" Torik tried to persuade him to continue, but the Runner onlontinued to shift his feet.  
  
At last the Runner whined, his voice squeaking like a baby mouse, "I  
can't say, Mr. Torik, I just can't say. You don't know what'll happen-  
  
"Nothing is going to happen, Skit."  
  
"-most horrible, horrible things, sir, you wouldn't-  
  
"Please, Skit, calm down. Was it Hunter?"  
  
"-things will happen to me, like the things that happened to Hyle, I-  
  
Torik struck forward, grasping the Runner's collar and shaking hiack to reality. The young man spoke in a hushed strife, "What happened to  
Hyle?"  
  
"I-I don't know, sir, please put Skit down, sir, I-I don't know."  
Torik shook him again, but Skit fell mute. The little Runner only looket him with the wide eyes of a child looking up into the face of parenfter doing something wrong, filled with both tremendous fear and sorrow.  
Torik set him down carefully. The moment the Runner's feet felt the coltreet, he was gone.  
  
Torik stood in the alley, letting the heavy wind find him and lifis long, black coat. He couldn't pry his thoughts away from his partner.  
He took no notice of the clouds descending over the city.  
  
  
"Daddy, where's Hyle?"  
  
"He's in bed dear."  
  
"Is he still not feeling well?"  
  
"He's got a bit of a tummy ache, Claire. But don't you worry, he'le fine with a good night's rest."  
  
The wind pounded against the windows, the rain coming down likassive broadswords, striking themselves in the pavement below. Hyle san his green leather couch, looking out the window, his eyes narrowed. Had tucked his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Thain continued to pour.  
  
"Daddy, who's outside?"  
  
"Now, Claire, don't scare me like that, you know I don't like it wheou say that."  
  
"But I heard a car door Daddy, listen!"  
  
"Claire, I mean it now."  
  
"Listen!"  
  
"………Claire."  
  
"Why are you speaking so softly, Daddy?"  
  
"Lower your voice honey………And get under something."  
  
A streak of lightning lit the sky, illuminating Hyle's dark room. Hulled his knees tighter to his chest, and continued to stare into thtreaking water outside.  
  
"What's wrong Daddy?"  
  
"I love you Claire, now get under that desk. Do it."  
  
"Why, Daddy?"  
  
"Do it. And stay there, don't move from that-  
  
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!  
  
Hyle buried his face on his knees, also resting on his crossed arms.  
Two more claps of thunder rose in the night.  
  
"Daddy!"  
  
"You sons of bitches, stay away from my family!"  
BKEWBKEWBKEWBKEWBKEWBKEW!  
  
THSEWW!  
  
"Gaaaklt!"  
  
"DAADDY!"  
  
"Nice knife, there, Thorn."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Yeah, kill the kid too."  
  
"Daddy! Please, Daddy, get up, please, Daddy. Dad-  
  
BLAM!  
  
A final streak cut the sky. And Hyle was gone from his room of dusk.  
  
For both sanctity and redemption purposes, Direct's multiplasements held a small cathedral, for those soldiers that believe irayer. However, and much to Shane's disapproval, it has been blocked off,  
no longer "needed".  
  
Hyle strode silently into the small, dark room, up to the cross. Thed glow from two candles sent reddish-orange waves over the walls, thines shuddering at every step. He knelt before the rusted, golden symbol,  
and slid the podium aside that stood under it. His hands hesitated ovehe floorboards, then slid them aside. What shone in the dark hole beneatas a fine black case, several inches tall and three times that wide. Hylifted the box out and set it on his lap.  
  
The hinges were still untouched by time and moved fluently, spening the case remained silent. Within was a long, black and sleek shaff one of the newer models of the velocity revolvers. The other fixingncluded a crimson silver handle, the custom cut slits that were bullets,  
and a generation crystal to give a little extra punch of psionic energy the hot lead.  
  
Hyle began to assemble the gun slowly, every movement sending hiack to when he did use this forbidden weapon.  
  
"I thought councilman weren't allowed to withhold guns." Chris appeared ihe doorway, leaning on its frame.  
  
"Shut up, Christopher." Hyle shot across the blackness, "It's noike I'm going to use it."  
  
"Yeah." Chris strode across the room. His gold hair shone a dark ren the candlelight. "But you were thinking about it."  
  
Hyle didn't answer, instead he took aim at an imaginary foe,  
critically straightening his arm and fixing his stance. He relaxed again,  
dusting the powerful black barrel. Chris leaned against the wall in fronf Hyle. His face was cut down the middle by the light, forming a dark anight side. "You do realize that the Syndicate Venoson was abolished wheheir methods became, well, more civilized?"  
  
Hyle's eyes flashed. "Why do you ask questions to which you'vlready formed the answers to?"  
  
Chris changed the subject, "Appropriate place to store it, I suppose.  
A holy weapon of justice wielded for the good of humanity." He murmurearcastically.  
  
"I am in no mood for your sarcasm, Chris, and you know that." Hylissed to his friend. The candles flickered in the exchange of angroices.  
  
"Who you gonna' kill tonight, Hyle?" Chris fired over the floor.  
  
"Don't know." He returned offhandedly. He flashed the gun up aneveled on Chris, who stiffened by reflex. "How about you?"  
  
Christopher actually grinned at this action. His own friend froiddle school and military training pulling a gun on him. How justified.  
His grin vanished when he watched Hyle pull the cock back and narrow hiyes, also straightening his arm further.  
  
"You gonna' shoot me there, Hyle?"  
  
"Guess." Hyle hissed.  
  
"It won't bring them back, my friend."  
  
"Will it make me feel better, my friend?" Hyle asked. His shadolickered in the light.  
  
"Depends on how malicious you can be." Chris didn't move from hipot.  
  
Hyle's eye twitched suddenly and his arm abruptly swung down. BLAM!  
A thick black hole to the right of Hyle's foot now shone through thloorboards.  
  
The next morning was slow, despite a planned celebration later thaay. Torik met Hyle and Chris at Direct's steps. Hyle was looking ratheale. Chris was also a tad flustered on his own.  
  
"So I'm guessing you heard?" Torik broke the tired silence.  
  
"They're closing the case for now because they're afraid the BH  
faction will strike." Chris delivered monotone.  
  
"But they're still throwing a party for the success of the messagnd/or your return to the land of the living." This came from Hyle, alsonotone.  
  
As the day rolled on, literally nothing happened. There were nnterrogations. Syria did not leave her room. Signals into space for the  
Freeshade commenced, but to no avail.  
  
The evening came upon them in ascension, no one really noticed whet arrived. It rolled in with the mist and fog, although the attitude ohe night was still one of joy and fun. The Direct building churned witxcited bodies, all headed to the ballroom in the first level of thasement.  
  
Hyle was setting his suit on his bed when Torik walked in. There wa small pack on the desk.  
  
"Hyle, I'll see you there, right?" Torik asked.  
  
Hyle nodded briskly, "Sure thing, but I'll be a bit late."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I just have something to take care of." Hyle answered offhandedly.  
  
"All right, then." And Torik left quietly. Chris started to follow,  
then processed what Hyle had said. He looked at his friend, his eyes askehe question.  
  
"Don't ask, Chris." Hyle glared back. "Really, don't ask."  
  
The two friends locked gazes, and broke them at the same time as  
Chris left and Hyle got back work gathering his things.  
  
The councilman emerged through the mist rising from the grate witenown control. He saw the Runner called Skit crouched before him.  
  
"Oh, are you Hyle?" Hyle nodded. The Runner continued excitedly,  
"You work with Torik right? Good, good, good. I'm sorry for mranticness, but you know what happens if I get caught, right?"  
  
"They kill you, I know." Hyle said without emotion. "You don't havo worry about that."  
  
"You made sure no one followed you?" Skit the Runner was small aneek, but quick as a bullet. But he was always convulsively shivering whee stood still, as if the sheer aspect of not running was making his bodwitch. He looked like a child on a sugar fix.  
  
Hyle was still very cool and calm. "Yes, I made completely sure."  
  
Skit looked at him expectantly for something, but he didn't know whaet. The Councilman pulled back his jacket on the left, revealing elocity revolver.  
  
The city was a silent wake of moonlight and artificial street light.  
No birds chirped at dusk. And among the sound of silence, four loud shotere sounded within themselves. Shots sounded from a sleek, velocitevolver… 


	5. Signal

****

Chapter 5

Signal

The black-robed hunter crumpled onto the ground, sounding a firm _SNAP_ as he hit. Skit recoiled away from the corpse beside him. Hyle had frozen at his action.

"He-he, came to kill…." Skit stuttered.

"He came to kill you." Hyle's body was now shaking convulsively, but his face remained the same tranquility.

"Mr. Hyle, sir….I…"

"Run, Skit, run now."

Skit complied, flying over the rooftops away from the site. Hyle was left with the corpse, his gun, and processing his actions. He lifted the gun to his eyes and gazed across the barrel. "What does this mean?" he whispered, "That I would defend a bounty hunter. What peace does it have?" The moon was full, he just noticed. Maybe it had some answers. "WHAT PEACE DO I HAVE!" it didn't answer.

Glasses clinked, the atmosphere finally not false. Shane even set up the celebration. Those there consisted of agents of Direct's smaller Elite Squadron and some new ambassadors keeping up appearances.

"So, Mr. Stronkhold," Trunks struck up conversation. Torik finished his next gulp of champagne while turning his chair around. "What are your thoughts on the council? On its direction?"

"The council." He answered.

"Yes, the council, since you have been among us for a time." Shane commented.

"Chairman," Torik directed to Shane, "There is no guarantee that I will be staying here among you, despite what a great…pleasure it is to work alongside your officers." 

This brought a chuckle across the councilman. They did enjoy this boy's company, despite his secrets. The discussion continued without delay, but not many noticed when the lights were dimmed without permission. Only Trunks minded. He broke off from the debate and scanned the ceiling. Something was wrong, off course _he_ could sense it. _Could these humans know?_

**__**

Crraash! The overhead skylight shattered as three figures descended onto the stage. One, two, three, they all landed firmly on their feet, then took to one knee as they bowed to the guests. The shards of glass rained both into the bunch bowl and wine glasses. As screams elapsed and echoed in the domed room, Trunks, Torik, Shane, and Chris remained seated and took time to size up the invaders.

There were three of them, of course, each wearing a color trench coat. The first to stand, Trunks guessing was the leader, was female, wearing a blue coat. She had lightning red hair, long and flowing. The two flanking her rose much more slowly. There was a bearded man in a dark gray coat, and the third, who trudged to a far end table, brushing its plant off, and sat on it. He was rather large, not wide, but very tall and very heavily built. His coat was black with gold strips running down the sides of the back and front. The coat was more like a thick leather armor, as the shoulders were especially prominent. 

The woman in blue grinned menacingly at the other guests. She raised her arms high and wide, in exaltation of something. "For the glory of the Hunter." She said.

Trunks' arms twitched and eyes flashed. Torik moved for his gun. He caught the gray man's eyes. The gray man's arm flew out and straightened, sending a small metal spike shooting from under his wrist. Torik's eyes went wide as he rolled out of his chair, the spike missing. Another arrow, however, caught his gun, and a third pinned his sleeve to the floor. Trunks stood up, but moved no more than that. The gray man laughed at him.

"You think your foolish attempts will stop us? We have the roof surrounded, any further disturbances and our reinforcements will enter this room and as you might say it," he gestured around the room, grinning more, "Administer a royal 'beat-down'."

Now Shane stood and addressed the three, "You take action upon us and we will administer a blow to your faction that will tear it to shreds. You do realize this? You have condemned your own people."

"We speak of a higher authority." The tall man in black and gold now spoke, twirling a long knife with his massive fingers. 

The gray man interpreted his colleague, "Ah, what Nolan means is that our faction is one within a faction. We were exiled by our superiors, but still live as what you might call Renegades. We speak for further glorification."

"Fanaticism." Torik whispered from his place on the floor.

"I see your Ghost has alternate views of the Revolution." The gray man seemed angered by Torik's voice.

Shane addressed the gray man now. "Ah, Branil, you haven't changed a bit."

The gray man, Branil, took a few steps back, considering the councilman. Trunks looked quickly from one to the other. "You know this man?" he hissed to his friend.

"Make your move." Shane whispered back. Trunks got the picture, his eyes flashing white. In that instance, the woman in blue and Branil were surrounded by wind, then were flung back into the wall, crumbling half the risers. 

Trunks whirled on the other guests. "Get everyone out of here!" he screamed. Darin was the first to comply, trying to get all the ambassadors out first.

"Not so fast!" Branil warned, revealing an intercom. "Tell the soldiers to attack." He murmured. 

Torik had succeeded in prying the spike from his sleeve, was on his feet, and, holding the spike like a throwing knife. He flung it to the stage. 

_Kkkrrzzk!_ The intercom was simply no more. Branil rose from his position on the stage and froze. He watched as Torik brushed his jacket aside and pulled out another Force blaster, his backup. He leveled the weapon toward the ceiling. "Bring it on."

Shane now stood, ready to help with the door. And Trunks was the slowest to react, Chris nearly throwing water at him to get up. The man loosened his tie, slipped off his jacket, and hung it over his chair. And then, they came…

The room rang with the sounds of exploding glass. Bats, clubs, staves, swords, fists, chains… _Damn, they must've hired every Renegade in the world._ Trunks assumed fighting stance. He spread his legs, keeping his hands and arms loose. 

The nearest Chain immediately lunged at Chris, who brought up his left arm. The chain locked around it, he himself also catching it, then pulling the Renegade to meet his outstretched fist. Chris, now tearing off his tie and jacket, wrapped the chain around his left forearm. He kicked his table over, onto a Bat wielder, revealing his rapier, still sheathed. It was launched up by his foot and caught by his now chained arm, he drew it with his right, splitting another Bat's weapon in two.

Shane had made his way with the ambassadors and other guests. As the last innocent dashed out the door, it was crushed shut, a grinning toad-faced thug before it.

"I finally meet you, coward." He slithered.

"Perhaps the fact that I left resurrects myself as the bravest of you." Shane answered. 

The hunter raised his eyebrow then yelped as Shane's unsheathed rapier rode over his hand. As he clutched his bleeding appendage, the councilman socked his grimacing face. He stayed down.

Trunks sensed the chair swinging toward his head, his left arm flying up to catch it, then commanding his body to whirl and fling the projectile into its owner. _Two more from the right and left!_ Trunks' mind flared up. Both men leapt up for high kicks. The alien took one step forward. His right hand caught a leg, his left caught a leg, and he did a 360, flinging both men in their opposing directions.

"You believe you can stop us?" the deep voice of Nolan cut the room. Torik heard the sliding of metal off of sheath and darted his eyes for the source. Trunks already found it. "Die, Direct scum!" 

_Whhooom!_ Trunks ducked the massive bastard sword, raising his Ki only slightly. The psychic energy needed for his sensory didn't seem to be helping. _Where the hell is he?_ The rest of the room had cleared out, Shane and Chris were nowhere to be found. _Good, they're safe._ But…Torik!

"Yaaaaa!" 

Another war cry behind! Trunks turned on his heel, and immediately leapt back. The slash had shredded his tie. Nolan was truly massive. And the councilman now noticed a good deal of controlled energy radiating even off his black and gold coat. His sword was the largest he'd ever seen, and the Renegade held it with one hand. _Crap._

Suddenly, Nolan stumbled to the side, smoke rising from a singe in his shoulder. The trajectory led to Torik across the room. There was a flash of black and red behind him, and the door opened and slammed shut again. _A Runner._ Torik nodded approval, and bolted after it. 

Nolan didn't much care, and looked to advance on his shorter foe. Instead, he propelled himself backwards, summoning a smoke cloud. As expected, when it cleared, he was gone.

The mist layering the streets served as good cover. The Runner was fast. The Venoson was faster, as strange as that seems. The night air gave a cool sense to the night, leaving trails of breath as the two pursued each other. The mist was fitting once again. 

The Runner turned a sharp corner, only to slam into Torik's solid figure. The small aid instinctively stalked around Torik's legs, only to find himself at a dead end. When he turned back around, he was staring down the shaft of a Force blaster. The Runner tried to plead, knowing full well the stories of the mercy of the Venoson.

"Please, we must get the signal out. If we don't, then, then we can't-…they won't know that we want them to come." This one was even more skittish than Skit. _Funny._ "They need to know, please, let me go. The Legion must-

The Runner froze, his eyes very big. He clamped his hands over his mouth, also by instinct.

"You've been consorting with alien powers?" Torik kept the gun level, but his eyes widened, then narrowed at his own question.

"I-I, …AAAAAaaaaaa!" Torik whirled out of the way as two shots connected with the Runner. Torik, from the ground, immediately aimed to the roof and fired with experience. He glimpsed a figure shadowed in complete black launch himself all the way over traffic. Torik's custom force gun followed the descent, but he didn't strenuously fire, waiting for a clear shot. There never was one. The figure never landed on the opposing roof, only vanished.

Torik returned to the Runner's body. One shot burned through the heart, another between the eyes._ He didn't stand a chance, he was already dead. And he knew it._

Branil landed in the alley in a clatter of his finely crafted shoes. He cast a sigh and leaned on the brick wall. "Heh heh, who ever thought the revolution could be so cumbersome." He uttered. Then something caught his eye. His breathing skipped.

The shadows moved and expanded into a form, black coat billowing and trailing behind. He caught two sleek flashes of twin revolvers…

"Who in the-

_Blam! Blamblamblamblam!_ The hot lead yielded no mercy for his garments and flesh. He was flattened against the red. What escaped his mouth were a few choked vowels, but no real words formed as the Hunter slid down the wall, casting a deeper red coat against the brick.

Hyle strode out the shadows and proceeded to kick the Assassin. "Cumbersome?" he hissed. "Cumbersome enough to kill your own?" he spit upon the corpse and reentered the shadows. "To hell with you, blasphemer."

Torik saw Hyle piercing the mist. "Hyle! Where have you been?" he called.

Hyle didn't answer right away, he took his time in getting there, but when he did, all he murmured was, "I have killed the assassin of your Runner. He has no honor." And continued walking.

"Hyle, wait!" Torik called after his form.

The ex-syndicate swiveled back around to face him, but still walked backwards. He spread his arms, beholding the sky. "Wait for what? They all just wanna' kill us anyway. If they want a war they'd better hurry up and do it. Get it over with. God knows I'm ready." And he turned back around, his black coat billowing behind him.

__

The moonlight cast a dim glow upon the Wing residential section. Its reflection was fitting for the blade of a sword. 

Leon swung at imaginary foes, leaping, flipping, and kicking, all in that dim blue shade. In a way, his own king sword emitted a blue tint, perhaps not of the moon. He stopped mid-slice at one particular move, his mind getting creative. The boy grinned. 

The boy ran full speed ahead to the edge of the roof. Two feet from it, he altered his weight onto his left foot, skidding on the dusty plaster. He then pushed off the left foot and was launched high into the air. He performed a side-flip, whipping out his sword as he twirled against the moon, creating his own whirl of death. 

Leon landed, setting his sword to rest once again in front of him.

"You've been up here every night since Aidam's defection." 

Leon was startled as he noticed Tom leaning against the doorframe of the stairwell. "Mind explaining why?" he ventured.

"Ever since that first battle, when I fought Cinder." Leon shook his head, "I don't know how to explain it to you because you weren't there to begin with. You didn't see what happened to me. Kane did."

Tom looked up at the mention of his Enforcer friend. "And so did Trevor?"

Leon shook slightly. "Trevor I'm sure felt it. The force of the blow. Whatever it was, I felt a surge of something. A power. And maybe all my nights up here will make me realize how much I can dig into that power."

"Whatever." Tom shrugged it off as nothing and headed back downstairs.

Leon hardly noticed. "Yeah, I need to tap into it." He took stance again. Leon spun the sword around him and slashed, immediately leaping into the air. He executed two full spins horizontal against the moon, to land in the same stance. He wasn't even shaken, it was easy now.

High above the clouds rested a colossal ship. The same one that had split the sky and assaulted the powerful apprentice, Sesix. The watcher within its contours ordered the ship's computer, Colt, "Keep an eye on that one. He shows great promise. Perhaps even a sense of what is to come."

"You got it." Came its hearty, electronic reply.

__

The sands of the outskirts had begun to churn seasonally, but never with this much vigor. 

"Have you ever seen the hills like this before?" Torik asked.

Hyle continued on his patrol, hardly paying any mind to his partner. Finally, he stopped, and pulled out his revolver, spinning the gun around his index finger. "Maybe they are the Winds of Change." He muttered. 

"Hyle, I know your anger. But know this, vigilantism is not the way. Taking these matters especially, into your own hands won't solve anything."

Hyle shrugged. "Who says I'm trying to _solve_ anything?"

"Are you trying to start something?"

"Let's put it this way." He shrugged again. "Anything that gets in the way of my directive will be dealt with."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Torik tensed.

"Perhaps it means a Revolution is coming?"

"What the-

The two men whirled on each other, looking for the owner of the voice. Out of the copper wind they came, one on each side. Renegades. You could tell by the patch on their arm. The sword and gun were separate on these symbols. They quickly positioned themselves on either side of the Officer and Venoson, so that they had to set against each other's backs to see the hunters. One was clean shaven and bald, his low laughing telling them he was the owner of the comment. His partner was a much younger, careless haired, hunter, obviously uneasy. Both wore terra-cotta trench coats.

"How many revolutions does it take to prove a point?" Hyle growled. His trigger finger was twitching, his malice growing again for these Renegades.

"You had your turn when Aidam defected. Now it's ours."

"Since when do we take turns in the changes that occur in our time?" Torik was more composed, calmer in these situations.

The bald hunter shrugged answered with a flare of assurance. "Since the time of Signal."

"The time of what?" Hyle was now even more angry but also confused.

The Hunter's partner stepped up to him and whispered, "It doesn't matter, they wouldn't understand."

But the bald one continued. "The time when your own trusts and loyalties turn against you."

"Say that again?" Hyle's coat blew back, his right hand immediately grasping his revolver.

__

Torik grasped Hyle by the shirt. "You want to start another war, then you pull that gun." He hissed.

The hunter over Hyle's shoulder noticed the act of kindness, and took the opportunity, launching a knife from under his long jacket. Torik saw it coming, gripped Hyle's shoulder, and shoved him down. Pushing off his partner, he jumped up and over him. He brought his other hand up and the knife slid across his palm till he caught one of the finger-holds. Torik landed in the sand with his back to the thrower, turned on his heel, and flung the blade at its owner. The sharp edge connected with the hunter's bald dome. He arched back, spreading his arms from the hit, and the moment slowed. Torik's mind raced with the consequences of his action just now. The hunter's hovered in its decent.

The bald hunter's partner twitched and quickly brushed back his cloak, drawing his shotgun. Hyle was up and aiming. 

_BKEWW! FFWWIT!_ The burning lead left a spiraling smoke trail as it easily punctured the skin of the gunner. His shotgun was nearly level. Hyle's moment slowed. He felt no pity. It was a work of cinema. The floating, running river of red now flowing from the hole in the skin. The fingers becoming slack from the weight of the rifle. The tension of the arm as more strength was summoned to try and compensate for how much was being lost. And then, the face. That look of desperation, the clenched teeth, the vivid look in the eyes. Shock. Surprise. Disbelief. _Denial._

Hyle was sick of this moment. He ended it.

The gunner's head snapped back with another bullet in the face, and a final shot to the other side of the chest to keep it on the ground. The bald corpse also found its home in the sand. Hyle had bent his knees and half-knelt. He held his gun with both hands over his head, looking between his arms at his victim. The long tail of his coat was just settling from his last movement.

Both men froze in their positions.

"Shit." 

Hyle pointed to the horizon. "Look!" There perched on the hill was a figure in thick desert robes. Its face was hooded, complete with bronze sunglasses and dust mask. It also, as Torik noticed, sat atop a crimson hovercycle.

"Crap, we've been spotted." Hyle exclaimed, brandishing his gun, not that he'd do anything with it.

"Don't worry, she's harmless. For now." Torik calmed him.

"How do you know it's a 'her'?"

The Venoson shrugged, "All Rogues are women. They're the only ones given that right, to deny their elected masters."

"Rogues?" Hyle raised an eyebrow. "How many separate powers are there these days?"

"Same reasons why the Renegades exist."

"Different beliefs?"

"Yeah."

Hyle turned back to the hill. The Rogue was gone. "Will she warn them?"

"No, Rogues only answer to themselves."

"One of these days you're going to have to explain this to me." Hyle commented.

"I'll be sure to. But for now, all we can do is head home and wait for her to contact us."

Again, Hyle raised an eyebrow at his partner.


	6. Espionage

****

Chapter 6

Espionage

__

Dear Mr. Stronkhold,

I believe you are in need of my assistance. As you most likely have guessed, or known, Rogues are not prone to giving information to others, especially to Venoson, but I find it my honor to do so with you. Meet me two miles north from the Border. I will be waiting on my cycle for you.

Sincerely,

The Rogue

Torik closed the message hologram. "This should be interesting." He muttered.

"Why did you send for me?" The sands continued to churn.

"I saw your sympathy for the Faction."

"But we slaughtered them…" Torik stated.

"Only after they attacked you." The Rogue continued. Her body was slender, the desert armor light without burden. It consisted of red chest and shoulder plates, and thick leather pads over her thighs. Her boots were laced in red, with silver shins. She wore a large clay-colored upper cloak, complete with hood, casting a shadow over half her face. 

The Rogue led him deep into the desert, the Broken Lands. They stopped on a hollow arch, overlooking the invisible borders of the next world. Torik shielded his eyes; the sun was much brighter here. 

"There." The Rogue pointed. Torik squinted in the direction, his gifted sight betraying him. He saw only the molten sand and wavy sun of the horizon.

"There's nothing there." He argued. The Rogue grinned and extracted a pair of binoculars from her bike. She handed them to the Venoson.

"Look again." Torik did, and oddly, he took a step back in surprise. With only the naked eye to guide him, his sight yielded nothing, but aided by these average binoculars, he beheld a massive dome. The base was a pale bronze, complete with enough layers, it seemed, to withstand a thousand tanks.

Torik lowered the binoculars. "What is it?"

She took the tool from him, filling his hand with another small object, about the size of a golf ball. "A Face Shield."

"And what is _this_?" 

"Something to turn it off."

"And?" Torik raised his eyebrow. _Spill it._

The Rogue stepped back. "Now let's get this straight. I'm not helping you, I was never here. Ok?"

"Of course. You know my respect for your tribe."

"I don't have a tribe, ya' hear? There's no one left. NO ONE. Hunter's dead and nobody's gonna' take his place. Not even his wife… All of this has to end, and you know it. All this…chaos. Not just for the bounty hunters. It _is_ for you too."

"Understood."

The Rogue began to board her cycle. "Get a group together. More than just two. Although your infiltration of Beacon was one hellova' mission, you'll need at least twice that to get into Emerald Base. Its destruction or immediate shutdown will open your communications tenfold, as well as upset the hunters' balance of power."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Torik asked, almost playfully.

The Rogue removed her goggles, revealing her deep violet eyes. "The simple wheel to start rolling. The abolishment of Factionalism."

"Which set of Factions?" Torik's eyes narrowed.

"All of them." Was her simple, light answer.

Torik fingered with his watch. "Quite a task to be preaching, not to mention undertaking. Sure you're up for it?"

"A wise man once said, 'If you want something more than anything else, you will get it'. Let's put it this way: accomplishing your greatest need in the world, is one hundred times better than the greatest sex in the world."

Torik chuckled. "Good day to you Rogue."

The Rogue covered her eyes again. "Good day to _you_, Agent of Venoson." Her hovercycle's engine roared and she shot off, leaving a high spread of sand waves as she went.

"_Very _interesting." He muttered.

"She wants to do what?" Erik strode beside the Venoson on the street corner behind Direct.

"Abolish factionalism."

"Which faction?"

Torik grinned, answering as casual as he saw fit. "All of them."

Erik slowed his walk. "Holy crap."

"My sentiments exactly."

"Wait." Erik caught back up. "What does that have to do with the bounty hunters?"

"Don't know."

"Well, aren't you going to find out?"

"Nope."

"But-

"Listen, Erik." Torik held up his hand to quiet him. "Can you help me or not?"

The Vengeance Officer gave a heavy sigh. "Yes I can."

_"They're not exactly a wonderful group, but most of them have at least fought with or beside one another."_ Torik recalled Erik's explanations as he sat on the steps outside the city hall. The building had barely been used. A stature of medium height slumped against the pillar next to him. _So this is Vor?_ Torik looked him over. He wore a slightly ruffled green jumpsuit, with bronze shoulder plates and a small pack seemingly built-in on his back. Latched around his forearms were similarly bronze, long bands, complete with modules yielding an emerald green crystal oval jutting out of each.

Not far from him sat an Elite officer in very complex suit. Torik couldn't help but tilt his head at the thing. _Jim._ Vor's partner. The Venoson took a quick glance to Kane not far away and recalled the incident of the Enforcer chasing these two "renegades". 

Jim's suit was far from just bulky. Torik toyed with the idea that he literally lived in that suit, like it kept him alive. Although he was sitting down on the steps, Torik could see a hefty jetpack grafted into the suit, with an auxiliary floodlight that wrapped up to his right shoulder. The arms and legs were bulky but flexible, nearly every inch layered in tough, insulated covering and packs, loaded with small, remote explosives. 

Jim caught Torik staring. "Look, I've got everything you'll ever need to sabotage anything at any time. Be happy." He obviously wasn't, or maybe this is how saboteurs look and act before they possibly kill tons of people.

The Venoson's eyes passed over Kane, he already knew what Enforcers could do, quite a lot that is, and rested on Tom, the fidgety and most inexperienced of the group. He was currently pacing back and forth muttering hastily to himself, apparently in an argument with whatever his conscience was telling him.

"Any second thoughts, officer?" Torik called over.

In a strikingly humorous change of visage, Tom ceased pacing and snapped to attention, standing completely erect. "No, sir!"

Torik regarded him with increasing humility. "You know, you _can_ relax."

"Sir, I was ordered to treat with the utmost respect."

"Then I order you to relax."

If Kane were not wearing a mask, he would have laughed out loud.

The desert winds had become torrents in the time they first got on their way to the base. The Group of Five laid on their backs on the stretch of hill just before the building. Torik started his inspirational speech, "Ok, did everyone go to the bathroom before they came?"

Vor apologetically raised his hand. "Well, I'm sure they've got some sort of lavatory inside." Torik said. The group laughed again. "Now, does anyone need a run-down of the plan."

Tom's hand went up. "Does anyone _else_ need a run-down of the plan." The rest shook their heads. "Okey dokey, let's go, then."

The saboteurs fell into sprints all around Emerald base. The few guards wandering about were bashed unconscious by Kane's chain-clad fists and boots. The real obstacle was the solitary door that poked out from beneath the earth. Torik began to arm his Force gun, but Vor beat him to it.

Torik watched in amazement as the twin claws sprang forth from the modules on the Elite's arms. He followed their nearly silent slicing through the metal. Vor discretely retracted them again. As Torik passed Vor he halted, looking from the modules up to Vor. "Try not to stick those in anyone." He said.

Vor only chuckled. He and Jim exchanged an awkward silence.

__

"All I'm saying is we need to take this base out. Their satellite system has become strangely complex and they're starting to use code we've never seen before." Torik had explained. Jim recalled the conversation, how Vor shifted uneasily at mention of the satellites. There were still some things he didn't know about his friend.

The group crawled and trudged silently through the shafts, the officers' boots clanging overhead through the grated floor. They went a little ways before stopping at a groove in the wall. Vor leaned up next to it, and extended one of his new claws. Sticking the blade in the groove, he slid it slowly down until they heard a faint _Chunk!_ as the latch/groove was cut through and its door was opened. Vor braced against the flap and motioned Kane and Tom through saying, "You all have your jobs, let's do this." He re-latched the door, now only he and Jim remained. 

Vor stepped up to one of the looser grates and extended his claws fully. Jim noticed and questioned, "What're you doing?"

"Starting what we Irish like to call a ruckus." Vor went into pouncing position.

"Too late for that." Jim had a small igniter bar in his hand, his thumb on the button. High above them, from the hallway out of the catwalks, a small explosion billowed, the smoke making it look bigger than its intent. Shouting and orders commenced, while soldiers scrambled to search positions around the smoke. The floor was cleared.

The Irishman turned to his partner, mouth open, "How?" And Jim simply answered, "Never question a tactical mind." And they separated.

Kane set off to find the barracks. If Trinity's forces could be nullified, their duties would be much easier. "These hallways are endless."

_"Just keep looking, feel free to take time at this stage. We're not in a hurry…yet."_ Torik urged.

"I always plan to take my time…"

The grate yielded little resistance to a round volley of high-velocity bullets and Jim's enhanced legs. It sprang from its frame and clattered down a few feet away. Jim shot up out of the opening. "Well," he grinned to himself, "That was easy."

_King!_ A bullet sang off his armor. "Maybe not." He turned on the sniper, still grinning. One pull of the trigger and the assailant was dead. "Finally, Torik, I get to have some fun. Thanks for the opportunity."

_"Anytime Jim." _Torik crackled over the headset.

"Heard anything from Vor yet?" his expression changed to amusement. 

The Irishman leapt across the banisters with one-toed talons. From his perch he watched Officers pass under him, talking casually. He noticed one particular pair, looking exhausted, and followed them.

The Officers came to rest at a door significantly larger than the others, and when it slid open, it revealed a room full of couches and the stench of beer and liquor. "I seem to have found the lounge. Congratulate me, will ya'?"

"Congrats." Came Tom's reply. A soft, universal chuckle rustled over the net.

Five or six guards passed under Kane in the rafters, all heavily armed. They had poured out of yet another door up ahead. It locked _itself._ "Hmm, that's new."

_"What's new?"_ Tom sounded worried.

"Calm, down, rookie, I think I found the armory."

Tom was finding this base to be larger than he had ever imagined. "What did I get myself into?" Already he had seen not one, but two main control rooms. As far as he knew, his only job was to be ready for Torik to give him orders if things got 'dicey'. How he saw it, though, was that he was only dead weight, and a personal annoyance to Kane. "Oh, well."

Torik dashed through the basement corridors. Fresh light streams flickered off the ceiling. "I think I'm getting close to the generator." He fingered his headset and patched through to Vor…

Sergeant Vlad Belt had had a long day. His colleagues had already given him hell over trying to date the Captain's daughter in another city, and the fact that she slapped him, multiple times. His luck with women had backfired since the 7th grade, and he still hadn't gotten over it. Not that there was much he could do about it anyway. 

Belt was a good kid, a little biased sometimes, but he had faced enough crap, on his terms, to justify his random, and sometimes violent mood swings. Luckily, his wrath had been spared from Private Nick and the other newbies. He was in a lull, but he was mellow. 

In fact, he was _still_ mellow when the chatter halted way too quickly around the vending machines and coolers. He was still cool, calm, and collected when the group poised at the door parted to reveal a thing of medium height in a green jump suit.

"Hey guys," it said, with a light Irish accent. Belt wasn't sure if it was real or not. "A funny thing crossed my mind this morning. I was thinking what it would be like to take on…" it extended one finger and proceeded to count every person in the room, "forty guards only armed with their fists and wits of steel, kick all of their asses, then laugh at their nearly conscious bodies and drink their own beer." The thing cracked its knuckles and grinned. Nick was pissed. Belt drank his Diet Coke.

Kane's door was a predicament on its own accord. It was not complex. On the contrary, it was _boring._ No locks, no sensors, not even a door handle, just a flat slate indented in the wall. _"Hey Kane."_

The Enforcer twitched violently for a moment, then responded with fire on his tongue. "Yes?" He seethed.

There was a long pause, as if they were taking a longer breath. _"…How you doin'?"_ It was Tom, mimicking an old ad campaign that failed. 

Kane's words were knives. "If you do a 'Waazaap' gag, I promise you will not hold the privilege of a throat tomorrow." Tom's voice clicked off and Kane was left to ponder the door.

Mr. Belt had put up a good fight. His Diet Coke was still intact, and so were his ribs. He'll just have a headache for a long time when he wakes up.

Vor had kept to his word, perched on the overturned couch guzzling a Jack Daniels. All the guards inside were flat on the floor. The Elite had but one scuff from the Private Nick's boot when the kid took it off and threw it at him.

"Heh, heh," Vor shook his head, "What enthusiasm."

_"Vor, are you there?"_

The Elite finished the bottle and picked back up his headset. "Yeah?"

_"I'm gonna' enter the preliminary corridor to the generator. Bad news is, there's going to be some intense gravity-_

"I hope you've been working out." Vor interrupted straight-faced.

_"My POINT is, that this can be stopped. Head to one of the main control rooms; it should be just down your hall, it doesn't matter which one, and shut down the system. This should cause a chain reaction that will not only stop the awesome gravity, but cancel about half the codes I have break in order to hack into the mainframe."_

Vor saluted an unconscious Belt. "Will do, General. Fightin' Irish!"

Kane had solved his problem in the rafters. The door, in its simplicity, scanned the palms of whoever touched it. Now perched in the rafters, Kane easily pounced on the first officer to open the door.

The multitudes of shell cases and spike launchers made the Enforcer's head spin. "Hey guys? Pop quiz: what _sophisticated_ military organization has… Instant-Freeze cartridges and… Holy crap, uh, Fusion Cannons? I never thought I'd see these again."

_"In other words, these guys are loaded."_ Jim summarized.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Torik made a request. _"A Fusion Cannon? If at all possible, use your visor to copy the schematics for one of those, I could use them later… Thanks. Vor, I'm almost there."_

The circular door opened and Torik cascaded through. However, he landed with a hard clang and could not move from a kneeling position. _Gravity_. His strained voice sang over the net. "Vor, where the hell are you?"

The steel door was cut into several pieces before Vor rammed through it, slicing down the first guard in his way. The next guard was armed, but his bullets only deflected off one set of claws while the other slammed into his gut. Vor ducked the next volley from the guard behind him while yanking out his gun. One shot to the head and he was gone.

The Irishman retracted his claws. "Room clear, what d'you want me to do?"

_"Shut down…the system."_

Vor strode over to the console. "How?" he was so casual.

_"I don't care! I'm being crushed."_ He cut off.

"Ok." Vor comfortably drew out his claws again and thrust them headlong into the console. He pried the panels apart and thrust one arm deeper into the guts of the system, literally pulling them out until one large cord ripped open. All light left the room. "That work?"

Sweat poured down the Venoson's face, but he could move. "Yeah. Thanks."

Vor looked at the console again, retracted his claws, and walked out of the room.

Torik dashed down the corridors. They began to convert to a neon tint lining the walls instead of the average dusk. He was getting close to the generator room. A voice on his headset made him stumble. 

_"So, explain the plan to me again?"_ it was Tom.

Kane's angry bass came into the conversation. _"Why the hell are you asking now!?"_

"Cool it, Kane, just keep going." Then, to Tom, "Where are you?"

__

Tom looked around. "Don't know, but there's a lotta' yelling and it's getting louder." 

_"I see him."_ Jim's monotone came over easily. _"And there are plenty of snipers heading his way. I don't think they're after him, but if they see him…"_

'They're after me', Torik thought. _"Jim, see if you can't slow them down a tad." _Came Torik's order.

_"Gladly."_

__

Jim lined up his crosshairs to the running gunner. One shot. The gunner fell with a silent scream. Another, further left. The gunner was running down the steps, getting halfway down, then leaping over the railing to the next flight. On his next leap, he received a blast in the gut to set him in place.

The Elite Sniper decided to change positions, chancing a flash of his bulky suit. He sensed the shot; it burned in his place. The opposing snipers lingered on a catwalk. Their hesitancy rewarded them with the riddling of their foolish bodies.

Three new shots clanged next to Jim. He whirled onto his back, his gun flinching as it loaded a small missile on its bulkier right side. He loosed it from the hole. The smoke left a spiral before splintering the catwalk and its occupants. 

ANOTHER presence; behind him. Without hardly looking, Jim hopped up, sighting just over the top of the steel box, and launched his second missile. Two bullets sang into the metal before many cut-off expletives were heard, then another deafening explosion.

_"I'm being surrounded. I've gotta' move."_ Jim calmly informed.

_"Go ahead, you've made the time I need."_ Torik was timing the strides perfectly, but light charges were beginning to streak past him, denying his words. The Zero-gravity was finally working in his favor, but time was running short; the generator would be back soon… _What was up with that code? Damn, how much do we actually know!?_

The end of the corridor was slightly disappointing. All it beheld was a small console and screen. Not even a chair. "Well, at least it's generic." He began typing. In two minutes he was in.

_"Damn it!" _Jim's voice crackled in. _"This place has more snipers than the castles back home!"_

"And what home is that?" Kane's monotone actually sounded curious.

_"You need not worry of things that do not concern you."_ Wow, Vor actually knew some wisdom. 

Torik was so caught up in the chatter that he nearly missed what flashed across the screen, but his mind processed it fast enough. "Oh my God." The conversation stopped. The Venoson had copied the data onto his headset and resolutely shut down the generator before he replied. "I have the blueprints, and they're not in any language I've seen before."

_"Holy sh-_

****

COMMENCE AUXILIARY! INTRUDERS ARE PREVALENT, EXECUTE WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE!

Torik whirled on the voice, only to witness the console being crushed by a door descending from the ceiling, as if the Lord just dropped it into place. Another door slammed down in front of Torik, nearly crushing his big toe. "Tom!" he yelled over the tac, "I think things just got dicey!" And bolted.

Jim wasn't sure of many things about this Base, but he was certain that it was _alive_. In the sense that it could feel pain. Only three minutes ago did Jim fire on a wall, leaving a small singe mark, and a new plate of armor slid over the wound. Now the Base _knew_ they were there. And the walls were moving to compensate. 

__

"New Mission everyone." The members perked up. _"Search for a green orb of some kind, that's the mark of the satellites." _Torik's knowledge told them. _"We need to destroy it."_

Kane flattened himself behind the pillar. His emerald eyes scanned the Central. Out of nowhere he felt a surge of energy and his eyes flashed. Literally. A bright green light blinded his vision. _That must be it…_

"Whew." The Venoson's hands ached. They had become swiftly callused and scratched. "Mom always said I had delicate hands."

_"Huh?"_

"The generator's powering down, interference'll be out in another few minutes. You gotta' start wrapping this up."

"Shouldn't be a problem." Jim hovered on his catwalk. "This place is a factory and a castle. Literally, I found the ballroom." He chuckled to himself.

_"Uh, guys?" _It was Tom, sounding very shaken. _"I think I'm in trouble."_

"Damn rookie!" 

"Jim, can you see Tom?" Torik kept his cool.

Jim lingered on the balcony, scanning the underworld. "Yes, he's in the Central Platform." He looked to the far right. "And there's a shitload of guys comin' his way."

_"Wait, what!?" _Tom did a little dance.

Torik tore in, _"Jim! Can you get to him?" _Silence. _"Jim!"_

"…Yes."

The Elite rose, his jetpack flaring. He rocketed over the Central, first circling. His large machine gun he positioned in front of his head as he flew. Laser fire rained down upon the closing forces, few fell, but most were startled. They continued to come. Jim made another pass, arming his third and final missile. God let it fly with a prayer of forgiveness.

The explosion radius was engulfing, sucking in all but a couple, who immediately ran.

Tom looked up from his position, and his eyes shot open. High above him, sitting strangely out of place, sat an elevated console. "I think I got something." And he broke into a run.

_"Tom, wait! That's-_

Ssffltk! He didn't know the streak was coming, but his instincts sensed it, jerking his body slightly to the right in the run. It sliced through his left elbow, blood trickling out both sides. As the force flung him around, his good arm cast out his double-barrel blaster. His assailant's chest exploded from the dual blasts. 

__

Tom fell onto his back, then instinctively rolled away from auxiliary fire. He held two fingers to his black helmet. "Jim, I've been hit. I'm down."

_"Damn it!" _Came Jim's response.

"Listen, Tom, just get up and see if you can-" Torik was cut off by a louder and commanding voice.

_"Stay where you are and stay down!" _Kane boomed.

The Enforcer bolted down the dark corridor. All around him walls were jutting or converging into each other. Again, his emerald eyes flashed before he flung himself into the bright abyss. 

Below him the massive, cubed platform rose ominously, its lower ends sinking around it. Its ascension was forming a dark and ever-widening chasm. Kane saw the protruding semi-orb slowly disappearing into that chasm. He kept his body erect, knees bent and only slightly moving.

This is when the other guards noticed the Enforcer's floating outline and opened fire.

A shot skimmed Kane's left shoulder, while another shattered his right shoulder com-link. He didn't return fire, but kept his gun level with both hands. Emerald locked upon emerald. The vision of his opponents was slowly being overcome by a black sheet, with a dark-blue tint outlining its perfect square plates. 

Kane jerked his head to the left to dodge a final shot, then the black was over his eyes. The chasm was long. _Fffwoo!_ He passed a floor. His gun didn't move. _Fffwoo! Fffwoo! Fffwo-_ Green flashed, time slowed, Kane's gun leveled even more. Emerald locked on emerald. The blaster before him discharged and recoiled in slow-motion. Silence.

_Kakakashooooom!_ Light and fire flooded between the walls above the Enforcer. He looked up into the growing fire, latched his gun, and extended his right arm straight up toward the light. The pressure administered into his palm hit the trigger. A thin, powerful grappling hook sang from the band on his forearm, jettisoning a small puff of ignition smoke as it went. The line entered into the orange and red cloud, then grew out of the smoke plume at its peak, finding the ceiling and drilling into it. 

Kane stopped and hung momentarily in the blackness, then was hurled up into the now smoking higher chamber. He ducked his head down while entering the smoke, then brought it up as he emerged. Drawing his gun once more, he checked all around him for any other snipers. He found none. Kane, though, heard no sound, and could not see his assailant, but knew as he fell back into the burning abyss…

__

Torik couldn't believe his eyes, as his ears turned deaf for a few seconds. The explosion was extravagant enough, but what the Base _did_ next was amazing. It transformed again. The burning pillar that housed the Emerald sank into the dark abyss that had now appeared in the Central Core. All other surrounding tiles converged into each other, forming a smooth chasm. What finally appeared, as Torik's eyes shone wider, was one, large, gaping hole in the center of the room. _That's where Kane is…_

Drunken mist floated around the dank basement. Kane had softened his fall by landing on one of the rotting buildings, and falling through to its own basement. "Great," Kane murmured to himself, "Multiple levels." The Enforcer brushed as much soot off of his uniform as he cared, which wasn't much.

Kane's surroundings left much to be desired. Well, at least as much as could be desired in a Ghost City. _Another_ Ghost City. "Oh my God."

_"What? What is it?"_ Vor asked.

"I'm in the West City… I think."

_"What is it doing underground?"_ Tom wondered.

Torik answered instantaneously. _"Sandstorms."_

"There's something else…"

_"What?"_ But Kane grew silent… A great cave, no, a stone doorway, stood erected in the mist. A colossal gate guarded the secrets within. But there was something wrong. This gate had seen better days, the wear on it more than noticeable. These bars had once been straight and strong, now they were only wires. The hinges were gone. What happened next made Kane's heart tremor.

The gate shook.

Instinctively, the Enforcer frantically readied the on-board camera on his headset. Upon initiation, a ruby viewing piece sat itself in front of his right eye. It now mirrored what he was seeing. "Guys?"

Each of the saboteurs, even Tom, floating fifty feet above the abyss with Jim, lifted their heads. Each readied their ruby visors.

The ghostly gate faltered, nearly distorted in the air. It clanged, mangled, to the gray floor. The mist accented something else, wavering over a heavy mass. _Is that an arm?_ Kane's mind flared. His emerald eyes looked upon, now in clear shaded light, a three-pronged claw, which sat motionless in the stale air.

"Oh shit." 

_"My sentiments exactly."_ The voice belonged to Vor.

"You guys see what I see?" Kane asked.

The rest of them didn't know what to say, but Torik spoke first. "Kane, I need you to do something for me. Run. As fast as you can."

"Run? Why do I need to-

"RUUUUUUUN!" He did run, and the creature took notice. In one powerful lunge it had flexed the contours of its cage, in another it had broken free.

"Kane," Torik broke off into the sewers as if he knew where he was going, even though he didn't. "Keep running, but look around so I can get an idea as to where you are." What Torik saw were old buildings, like an abandoned underground city. He did, even, catch glimpses of a great three-pronged claw gaining ground behind the Enforcer. He quickened his pace.

_"What can WE do?" _Jim.

"Nothing! Stay there and wait for something to happen."

Above the chasm, in the darkness of the rafters, Vor perched. "Well, screw that idea." Both sets of claws flowed out in the shadows.

_"Vor!"_ Jim watched his comrade dive into the blackness; a green arrow with spiked tips. The dark vortex swallowed the Elite quickly, its gaping mouth growing wider…

Kane felt like he was running a marathon, save for the 60-foot dragon tailing him.

Torik at last found a landing with substantial footing. Just beneath him, the two closed the distance between each other. He took careful aim… Kane nearly lost his torso as his feet escaped a great blast. The beast behind him barely shivered.

"Great aim, marksman!" Kane screamed.

"Kane. Stop moving and get down."

"Why?" he asked angrily.

"NOW!"

The Enforcer stopped short and knelt, then rocked onto his chest as the beast leaped over him. There was a great crash when it smashed headlong into the alternate wall. The entire city shook. 

"Holy crap." Vor, now closer to Torik, was there. The behemoth sank to the floor, its wings now quite visible. "What the hell is that thing?"

Torik said very quietly. "Jeva."

All of them stood in silence as the thing struggled back to its feet. For a long time it just sat there, staring at the carved earth. _Crash!_ It pounded its head into the stone again and again, until the outer layer gave way completely. The streets flooded with misted dirt and concrete. Kane had at last sought refuge with Torik and Vor atop one of the buildings. "E.T. go home?"

"He wants out."

Vor was perplexed. "He?" But their thoughts were interrupted as the beast let out a cry of despair. The outer layer only exposed walls of solid steel and rock. However, light was beginning to flood the chasm. Jeva turned its head around, its huge eyes unblinking in the sunlight. It opened its wings partway, and launched upward. Jeva paid no mind to burrowing through the outer walls of the chasm itself.

Torik reacted quickly. "Jim! It's coming your way."

Jim floated in the hole. The adjacent wall was torn asunder as a sight no one had seen except in storybooks plowed through. Jim wasted no time, ascending with the creature. The crosshairs leveled between the eyes. "Say goodnight sweetheart." 

_"Don't shoot it!"_

Jim knocked his own gun askew and missed, striking a rivet instead. The behemoth barreled past him, knocking him off balance. Of all times, it was now that his jetpack decided to sputter and fail. Darkness overwhelmed him… 

Kane lunged his arm out and grasped the thick padding of Jim's descending suit. The Enforcer was indeed strong, but even he strained at the dead weight. Thankfully, it only took a few seconds for Jim to come to.

"Your jetpack still work?"

"Huh? Yeah, one second." The flood light turned on, then off, and the concentrated flame grew again.

"Then let's go." Despite Kane's size, he propped onto Jim's back. The set-up was awkward, but necessary.

Jim suddenly looked scared. "What about Torik and Vor?"

"They're way ahead of us."

The sewer tunnels were small, but fast. Only Torik and Vor, the thinnest of the group, could scale them. Despite that, they all met on the same platform. Jeva, though, was high above them.

"Jim, make sure that thing gets out of here safe."

Instead, the Elite turned the gun on his commander. "What's all this about, Torik? Why is there a creature that size in the basement?"

Torik held up his hand in surrender. "All I know is that we need to make sure that thing doesn't get attacked, otherwise we're all dead."

Erik saw the Thing rise out of the base. He knew the drill. Legs spread and palms together, he initiated the incantation. "Kaaameeeehaaaa…"

From beneath the layers of wire and metal it rose, its old wings at last spreading. Behind it, a lone and reluctant sharpshooter rose with it, only a tad slower.

The Vengeance Officer felt his concentration waver as the dragon came into full view. This thing was _massive_. _'Could it be? Something like this? Could it be Eternal?'_

"Meeeee-" A fleeting thought and Erik hesitated. He did not know what this would mean, nor the great consequence of attacking this colossus. No one knew that… But apparently someone had a clue, as the Officer ceased his incantation and fell back, laser shots raining down around him.

And Jeva, the dragon from the depths of West City, the underground of Emerald Base, rode the winds toward the horizon. To the sun it glided, leaving its potential prey to wallow in their confusion. That is, until Erik ordered a transport.


End file.
